


only guilty of loving you

by sweetrevenge



Category: Best Song Ever - One Direction (Music Video), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alpha Louis Tomlinson, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Angst, Blind Date, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Harry is Marcel and Marcel is Harry, Harry steals louis' clothes, Just a lot of flirting, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nesting, Nicknames, Omega Harry, Omega Harry Styles, Pet Names, SO many pet names I am sorry, Scenting, Sharing a Bed, Smut, Soulmates, Strangers to Lovers, You've Got Mail AU, and texting, just go with it, lots of texting, they're the same person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:21:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28668384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetrevenge/pseuds/sweetrevenge
Summary: After Harry gets set up with his co-worker's alpha friend Louis, he's expecting some pleasant conversation, free dinner, and maybe a new friend. What he doesn't expect, however, is that Louis' arrival in his life begins a life of crime Harry never knew he had in him.A You've Got Mail!AU with a twist.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Niall Horan/Shawn Mendes, Zayn Malik/Liam Payne
Comments: 50
Kudos: 333
Collections: OmegaHarryFicFest





	only guilty of loving you

**Author's Note:**

> I want to say thanks to all my pals for their hand-holding and cheerleading for my first (!!!) A/B/O fic. I wasn't expecting it to be as hard as it was and I'm pretty sure the word "smell" is in here 40+ times but c'est la vie. I also have another fic coming to this fic fest so stay tuned for that! 
> 
> Special shout out to sweet AM [(absoloutenonsense)](https://absoloutenonsense.tumblr.com/), your support means the world! Having you by my side as I brainstormed, wrote, deleted, and finally maneuvered this into a *somewhat readable* work was so fun. Also you're an amazing writer and a better friend and I adore you! Go check out her amazing fic from this fest [ Little by Little. ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28533090/chapters/69919782)
> 
> Written for prompt #3: Omega harry and alpha louis are neighbors in an apartment complex. they do laundry in their building on the same nights and always greet each other. after a while louis notices every time he gets back from washing his clothes, one piece of clothing is always missing. turns out harry has been stealing them when louis isnt looking and using them to build a nest in his own apartment.
> 
> Huge thank you to the wonderful organizers of this fic fest! Be sure to check out all the other fics in the [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28533090/chapters/69919782). 
> 
> You can also reblog the fic post [here!](https://cocoalou.tumblr.com/post/641140120343429120/title-only-guilty-of-loving-you-author) It means so much (✿◠‿◠)
> 
> p.s. you don't have to have seen You've Got Mail for this to make sense, it's loosely based on it!

Harry knew stealing was wrong. 

His mom told him that it was never worth it to swipe a candy bar or a pen from the grocery store. His kindergarten teacher brought his entire class to an assembly where a mean-looking, mustached alpha stood on the rickety stage of their auditorium and warned 100 wide-eyed six-year-olds that stealing was wrong. His grandfather had scarred him for life when he said that as a child, anyone caught stealing in his hometown had their thumbs chopped off with a meat cleaver. 

The same grandfather also informed him he’d once met an alien with the face of a human and the body of a duck, so it wasn’t like he was the most reliable. But the lesson stuck. 

And it had begun innocently enough. At least that's what Harry told himself.

It was a normal laundry night when it all started. His burglary. His thievery. His larceny. 

Harry found solace in his laundry routine. In an apartment building that was seemingly _overflowing_ with alphas, Harry had finally discovered the perfect time and perfect day to get his laundry done without the intense and sometimes debilitating scent of _alpha_ permeating his sensitive nose. 

That’s not to say Harry didn’t love his apartment. He did! Had moved in at the suggestion of his co-worker just a few months prior and despite a few shortcomings (ahem, the stinky, stinky alphas), it had become a perfect oasis. He was already feeling comfortable enough in his home that he had started to build a nest, a few soft blankets that smelled and felt nice finding their way onto his king-sized bed just last week. He wasn’t due for a full-on heat for months, but the urge was still there.

He had tried laundry on Sundays, but the small room in the basement was filled with a neverending barrage of alphas trying to do their laundry for the coming week. The smell was unimaginable. A week's worth of alpha’s dirty clothes mixed with sickeningly sweet laundry detergents and fabric softeners made Harry’s omega dizzy in the worst way. Decidedly _not fresh._

He tried early Wednesday mornings, but that’s when the creepy building manager, Hank, and his ghoulish smile checked up on the machines to make sure they were working properly. The one time Harry attempted Wednesday morning laundry, Hank’s eyes never really seemed to leave his arse. So that was out. 

There was even an attempt on a Friday afternoon, but Harry had a rude awakening when he learned that a lot of people in the building, alphas, omegas, _and_ betas, tended to throw in a quick load before getting into the swing of the weekend. 

Finally, Harry ventured down to the laundry room at 10:30 pm the third Tuesday after he moved in, desperate for clean clothes and hoping his propensity for late nights and his flexible work schedule would mean that he’d be the only one willing to regularly do his laundry at this time of night.

His hunch proved right and for the next three months, he had a solid routine of blissful laundry nights chock full of unscented laundry detergent, soft dryer sheets, and silence that allowed him to read a few manuscripts or listen to an audiobook in peace.

Of course, three months of solace was all he got. Because that’s when his thievery had commenced. 

Harry had just taken out his last load of warm clothes from the dryer and had made his way upstairs to his apartment, bed ready to receive the shower of fresh clothes soon to be folded carefully when _the incident_ occurred.

He upended his laundry basket onto his bed, expecting the normal, clean linen scent to waft up to his nose, instantly calming him. It was his favorite laundry detergent, formulated especially for omegas with more sensitive noses so he had gotten used to its calming effects. 

Instead of the detergent though, another aroma permeated his senses. Harry faltered as he dropped the rest of the clothes from the basket onto the bed, sniffing carefully.

There it was: A new scent. A pretty _great_ new scent. 

That was unusual.

Harry was in the small population of omegas whose scent glands and olfactory organs were particularly pungent and particularly sensitive. That’s the reason he wore scent blockers every day and took the strongest heat pill his body could handle. Even though all the precautions though, Harry was still highly reactive to any non-beta he came across. This was exceptionally true for alpha scents, which about 90% of the time smelled rancid to him. 

Harry knew his nose comes in handy most of the time because it’s ideal for picking out potential mates and friends as well as keeping him safe, but he tries to only use the full might of his nose when he has to.

Today though, he has no qualms about breathing in the air and trying to piece out what that delicious smell is. He sniffs his clothes again, a little deeper this time. 

He can pick it out now, in the abyss of his clothes, separate from the smell of his laundry detergent and the odors of his room.

It’s really unlike anything he’s ever smelled before. Better than the scent of his childhood bedroom or his mom’s hair or even his last boyfriend, who Harry had thought had smelled absolutely delicious. (that was a big win for him considering how much everyone else typically stank) 

And the whisper of its scent made Harry light-headed, ignited butterflies in his stomach, and sent off alarm bells to his omega.

He’s not sure why, but in that instant, he’s transported back to his childhood bedroom, where he’d beg his mom to tell him love stories and fairy tales and anything else fanciful and romantic. 

“You know Harry, they say you can instantly tell your soulmate by smell.” She’d remark with a soft smile in her voice and on her face, as they sat smushed on his twin bed, a book of fairytales long since closed on her stomach, watching the glow in the dark stars on his ceiling. “They’re supposed to smell like everything you love, everything you care about, all your favorite smells in the world just wrapped up into your perfect match.” 

Harry had always loved when she recounted that legend and for a long time, he thought it was just that: a legend.

She’d cuddle him close and remind him how wonderful it was to be an omega, even if sometimes certain people didn’t feel the same way: “Being an omega is special, Harry. You have a _gift._ Use it.” 

Harry would request the same story night after night, loving the way his mom would pitch her voice softer as she’d start the tale. He’d memorized it after two retellings and it never really changed as he got older.

But after a few years, when Harry was nearing his 10th birthday, his mum had met his step-dad and when she laid beside him in bed, it felt different. Not just because they barely fit anymore thanks to a growth spurt, but because when he’d ask for the soulmate story his mum would no longer smile normally and pitch her voice down softly. Instead, she’d sport a knowing grin and Harry could pick up on the joy and sense of disbelief in her voice as she’d begin talking. 

“You know Harry, you can instantly tell your soulmate by smell. They smell like love, they smell like everything you could ever want or need, all your favorite smells in the world just wrapped up perfectly for you.” 

It wasn’t until Harry was older that he realized she was talking in the present tense.

Another sniff brings Harry back to reality, trying to find a reason for his brain supplying that particular memory. He has an inkling as to why but it feels too big to actually think about at this moment so he shuffles it back into the crevasses of his brain. 

One more sniff and he spots it. A sliver of unfamiliar black material trapped under his favorite sweater. He pulls at the fabric gently and it starts to unravel from the whirling twist of his clothes. Harry can’t help but gasp as more and more of the material appears and more and more of its scent wiggles its way to the surface. 

It’s a thin threadbare band tee and it certainly does not belong to Harry. 

He’s pretty sure it’s a stowaway from whoever had been using the dryer before him. It’s not a surprise, especially considering the _size_ of the dryers. With their position stacked on top of the washers, Harry always had to reach blindly to get his clean clothes from the depths of their drums. He’d left socks and shirts before, had even gotten other residents’ clothes hitch a ride on his, but a stowaway had never affected him quite like this.

What did surprise Harry, the non-thief that he had always proclaimed himself to be, was that instead of running back down to toss the shirt in the lost and found bin that lived on the laundry room shelves like he normally did when something like this happened, he instead grabbed the shirt, allowed himself one deep inhale of the glorious scent, and then shoved it in his closet. For no reason, of course. 

“It’s fine.” Harry asserted to his empty apartment, “I’ll just return it later.” 

Thus started Harry’s crime spree.

* ˚ ✵ · . ✵ 

“Li?” Louis called from his bedroom. “Have you seen my Black Sabbath t-shirt? The one with weird winged babies on it?”

Liam pops his head into the doorway of Louis’ room with a quizzical look on his face. 

“Nah, mate.” He says, surveying the clothes Louis has strewn about the room. “You sure it’s not under that massive pile you’ve got there?”

“Liam. The pile is _because_ I can’t find the shirt, not the reason I can’t find it.” Louis says, gripping an imposter band tee in his hands in frustration. 

Bloody Liam, always blaming him when things go missing. Granted, he is prone to _misplacing_ things now and again, but it’s not like it’s a pattern. 

Liam whistles slowly, “Okay, don’t bite my head off. I just know how you are sometimes. Remember when you-”

“I lost my car one time.” Louis groans, “One time Liam! And you and Zayn still give me shit for it.” 

Liam just laughs. Bloody bastard.

“Fine. Be that way.”

“I’ll keep an eye out, Lou. Good luck.” Liam says, his eyebrows tilting up in a way that certainly does not convey the “luck” he speaks of. 

Louis tosses an errant hoodie at Liam’s retreating form. “Get out of here and go talk to your boyfriend, my God.” 

“At least I’ve got one!” Liam shouts as he leaves, sprinting towards the safety of his own room. 

This time Louis chucks a pillow at him.

“Wanker.” He says loudly, hoping Liam can hear it but sure he’s already dialing Zayn for another marathon round of phone sex or flirting or whatever the fuck the two of them get up to. Honestly, Louis should be paid a stipend for not only introducing the two of them but for the years he’s spent hanging out with the most obnoxious couple known to man. 

He thought they were annoying _before_ they bonded and now…

Now it’s a continual parade of stinky pheromones and whispers and so many neck kisses. Too many neck kisses, Louis thinks with a shudder. 

He’d probably be less upset if he wasn’t horribly, horribly jealous. 

Louis brushes his thoughts aside, lest they turn into the recurring stress dream he has about dying alone, and focuses on the task at hand: His missing shirt. 

He _knows_ he’s seen it in the last week. He wore it out to the pub after work last Monday and he definitely tossed it in his laundry basket as soon as he got home because Michael spilled beer all over it. And then, on Tuesday, he did a load of laundry and he threw it in there. Right?

The shirt is missing from his laundry basket so it’s not hidden there. It also isn’t hanging in his closet where it normally is beside all his other prized band tees. And it’s not under his bed, on his desk chair, or tucked behind his bookshelf which seems to happen sometimes when he’s desperately trying to find something to wear for the day. 

Some of the shirts he washed alongside it are hanging in his closet though, mocking him, so he’s got a sneaking suspicion that he left it in the laundry room. 

Louis sighs. It’s a small blessing that he has to do a load of laundry tonight, so he’s hopeful the shirt will be waiting for him in that godforsaken lost and found bin that never really seems to smell quite right. 

He gathers all the towels in his bathroom and the kitchen before knocking at Liam’s door. 

“Li? Do you have any towels that need a wash? Was going to throw them in with my sweatshirts” He asks. 

There’s a muffled giggle from behind the door and Louis rolls his eyes out of habit. Fucking bondmates. 

“I truly hope I won’t see your knot when I come in but I gotta know mate,” Louis says as he knocks louder and slowly opens Liam’s door, eyes squinched to protect himself from what he hopes won’t be something horrendous. He doesn’t smell anything, but Liam often wears heavy scent blockers because of his job as a nurse, so Louis can never be too certain. 

“Come in!” Liam finally says, just as Louis’ squeaked open his door an inch.

He’s laying on his bed, his laptop open, Zayn’s face smiling at him on the screen. It’s really unfair how damn happy he looks, even though the blur of the laptop. They’re both blessedly clothed, so that’s good news.

“Hey, Zayn! Surprised you’re not here in the flesh.” 

Zayn waves and smiles even bigger. “Hi, Lou! Just FaceTime tonight, sadly. How’s it going?” He grins and shoots a shrewd look at Liam.

Even virtually, Louis can tell his best friends are up to something.

“I’m good.” He says slowly. “What the hell do you want?”

Liam scoffs. “Louis, please. He’s just saying hi!”

“Uh. Li, no he’s not.” Louis says, dropping his laundry basket on the floor with a thud. “Was it not _I_ who introduced Zayn to _you_ years ago? My childhood _best friend_? I can tell when he’s up to something. And if he’s up to something, he’s abso-fucking-lutely pulled you into it. That used to be me, I'll have you know.” 

Liam tries to look appalled for a moment before his features rearrange into a bashful smile. 

“Li, you weakling.” Zayn cries tinnily through the computer. “You give in to him so quickly. Have I not taught you anything?”

“Ha!” Louis wails, fist-pumping the air. 

Liam looks a bit apologetic, like a forlorn puppy but Louis has no time to feel bad about that. 

Zayn, however, definitely does. 

“Oh my sweet pup, don’t worry. It’s not your fault.” He coos through the screen. Liam immediately brightens, blushing a bit under Zayn’s expert praise. 

“Oh my god. Give it a rest.” 

They giggle, like goddamn children, and then they both focus their attention back on Louis.

“So I met someone.” Zayn starts to say.

Not again. 

“Not again, Zayn, seriously?” Louis says, smacking his forehead.

“Hear him out, Lou!” Liam says, looking like the disgustingly in love and bonded alpha he is. 

“Guys. I really appreciate you trying to set me up but you’re _terrible_ at it.” Louis hisses. “First was the beta that _wasn’t even gay_ , then there was that omega who kept asking if I owned a boat. Like, what? Oh and let’s not forget not one, not two, but _three_ guys who stood me up for the first date.”

Zayn and Liam have the courtesy to look at least a _bit_ ashamed after Louis’ rant. 

“Okay. So there hasn’t been a winner yet!” Zayn says after a minute, his bottom teeth pinching at his lip in frustration. Or concentration. Louis can’t always tell with Zayn.

“Ever. There hasn’t been a winner _ever_.” 

Louis knows his friends have good intentions and he was appreciative of their efforts during the first three set-ups, but being stood up fucking sucks. And not that he’d ever tell the two of them, or else Liam’s puppy dog eyes would maybe fall out, but he’d had a good, long cry after every last one of those failed dates. And he’d never even met the guys! Had barely even exchanged more than a phone call or a string of texts to confirm their dates. He’s not sure what he would do if that happened with someone he cared about and could see a future with. 

“Okay. You’re right.” Zayn admits. He’s taken over the talking portion of the conversation from Liam, who looks a bit stressed and queasy, as he always does when there’s even the slightest whisper of conflict between him and Zayn. “I’m incredibly sorry about those other dates, Lou, but I really think this time, I have a winner. A legitimate winner.” 

“He’s right.” Liam finally adds, smiling up at him. “I also acknowledge that the other set-ups weren’t right.”

“Yeah. And this time, I actually got to know the guy for a while before I thought about this. I wanted it to be right. I promise. I know I fucked up before, but this is different.” Zayn stares through him as he explains himself and Louis feels a shiver run through his body. The full might of Zayn’s gaze, even virtually, is powerful. He can feel his resolve fading. 

“Fuck. Fine.” He relents, unable to take Zayn’s face any longer. 

The two of them cheer loudly. 

Insufferable, Louis thinks. 

“Okay great. His name is Marcel and Louis, I swear he’s your dream man.” Zayn says, talking a mile a minute. Or at least, at the normal pace a human talks, which is very unlike Zayn. “Like if you could magic up a handsome husband, voila, that’s Marcel!”

The only thing Zayn had said about the other setups was that they were “cute” and “definitely interested in relationships” so Louis’ immediately intrigued that Zayn would be so enthusiastic about “Marcel”. Of course, he doesn’t want _Zayn_ to know that. 

“Huh, Marcel? Interesting name. What’s so great about him?” He replies, schooling his features and feigning nonchalance. 

“He’s sweet, Lou,” Zayn explains. “We bonded over our omeganess at work.”

“Omeganess. I swear,” Louis huffs. “What does he do?”

“He’s an editor too, in the _romance_ division,” Zayn says in that flirtatious tone of voice he uses when he _knows_ he’s got Louis figured out. “And a proper romantic, he is. Even made cookies for mine and Li’s anniversary last week. He hand cut out ‘L’s and ‘Z’s which Liam loved.”

“They were so good, Lou.” Liam cuts in. “Like, the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

“Also fucking dorky, but yes very good,” Zayn interjects. “Anyways, he loves to bake and cook and he’s got gorgeous hair and long legs. Like, very long legs.” Zayn continues. 

Louis tries not to let the smile threatening to explode across his face emerge. Unfortunately for the two of them, Zayn’s been privy to some of Louis’s deepest romantic and ahem, sexual, fantasies thanks to their 20 years of friendship and he knows exactly how to hit him where it hurts.

 _Baking. Romance. Legs_.

“I’m not some creep who's obsessed with legs.” Louis reminds them. 

Zayn rolls his eyes. 

“We know, Lou. Just pointing something out.” 

“Okay, fine. What else is so great about this _Marcel_?”

“I mean, besides how sweet and gorgeous he is? Besides the long-ass list I just recited? Sounds like someone’s fishing.” Zayn says.

“Z. You’ve done me dirty with this same spiel for like five other guys so it’s pretty normal I might want more information.” 

“Not the _same_ spiel,” he mumbles under his breath. “But, yes I know. And again, this time is different. I don’t know what it is. Like, we get on with him so well.”

Liam nods in agreement. “He fits us, you know. And so that got us to thinking if he might fit with _you_.” 

“Plus, he’s great at trivia. I know how important that is to you.” Zayn says with a quirk of his eyebrow. 

“Oh and Lou, he came up with the _best_ team name for us. Like, you're going to freak out.” Liam says, a smile threatening to leap off his face with how hard he’s cheesing. 

“Oh, I’m going to freak out? Well, tell me, then.” 

“Otrivia Newton John. Get it?” Liam looks incredibly delighted. “Otrivia Newton John! Lou! Grease! Your favorite!” He’s almost vibrating with excitement now.

Way to hit him where it hurts. Puns about his favorite movie, oh god. 

“That’s…. cute… I guess.” Louis trails off. He’s got to bend down and pretend to rearrange the clothes and towels in his laundry basket to hide the elation he’s feeling. 

Zayn rolls his eyes. He knows Louis too well to be fooled by his distraction tactics. 

“So, yes, he’s got dad jokes coming out of his cute little arse. And he cares about his family and he's passionate about interesting things.” Zayn says with a fond look. “Also a great coworker and tips 25% every time we’re out at a bar.”

Okay, _really_ hitting him where it hurts now. His years as a waiter have made him very discerning. 

“I swear he’s just your type,” Liam adds in a soft voice. “I thought so as soon as I met him.” 

Well, duh, Louis thinks. Marcel sounds just like someone he definitely, certainly wants to get to know. 

“I gave him your number,” Zayn says with a sly grin. 

“Well, I guess that’s okay,” Louis responds, trying to sound neutral, even though Liam, the oblivious bastard that he is, can see through him at this point.

“Damn, I knew it. No more stand-ups for Louis Tomlinson!” 

Louis is excited enough not to get annoyed all over again at Zayn for that particular comment. 

“Fine. Fine. You got me. But I reserve the right to banish PDA for a week if I get stood up again.” 

Liam and Zayn share a look.

“We’re so confident about Marcel that yes, we’ll agree to that,” Liam says after the silent conversation he seemingly has with Zayn.

“Great. Now Li, hand over your towels.”

* ˚ ✵ · . ✵ 

There’s a man in the laundry room. 

Harry’s about to open the door to complete his Tuesday night ritual but there’s a man in the laundry room. 

A very cute man, he thinks.

Harry feels a shower of anxiety trickle over his body as he realizes his peaceful laundry night has just been taken over by someone else. An alpha. He can’t smell him yet but for some reason, Harry can just tell that the man sorting through a tall, plastic laundry basket is an alpha. 

A very cute alpha, his brain reminds him. 

Harry blushes. He has a tendency to do that when faced with gorgeous people. That time he met David Beckham had been a lesson in humility. 

The cute man hasn’t spotted Harry peering into the room yet. He’s wearing large headphones and bopping along to what Harry can tell from behind the door is loud music, grabbing things out of one of the dryers and tossing them into his basket. He’s having trouble reaching into the crevices of the large machines, just like Harry, and from his vantage point outside, Harry feels the sudden urge to crowd in behind him to help out. That could be because Harry is such a helpful person or because he knows he’d be able to breathe in the strange man the best from that position. 

Not that Harry ever does that.

He seems to be almost done with his laundry so Harry decides that he might as well enter the room, smell and solace be damned. He desperately needs the majority of the clothes in his basket washed and can’t put it off any longer. Anyways, he thinks, one cute alpha is better than the hordes that seem to occupy the room every other day.

He steels himself as he pushes open the heavy door, the squeak of the hinges making him jump a little. As soon as he does, he’s hit with the heavy scent of alpha. It’s like a gust of wind has targeted him specifically and that wind is made up of a hundred alphas. Immediately he tenses and scrunches up his nose because damn, this alpha is just so _fragrant_. Even though he knows he’d taken his morning scent blockers and heat pill, it’s like they’ve been rendered useless by this stranger. 

Harry tries to relax and slowly de-scrunches his nose and opens his mouth.

When he allows the scent in, he’s flabbergasted. Instead of making him queasy, like the overpowering scent of an alpha unencumbered by blockers usually does, he feels his uneasiness drift away and relaxation settle into his bones. 

God, he smells fucking great. 

There’s a familiarity to the scent. A comfort. Harry can’t help but lean in towards the man, whose back has been to him the entire time he’s been having this meltdown in the doorway. 

What the hell is that? Why does he smell so damn good? And why does it feel like Harry _knows_ him? 

His eyes wander across the stranger’s body, taking in his lithe but muscular figure. It looks like he’s been sun-soaked, his skin and hair sparkling with magic. Harry feels the itch to pull the stranger into his body and lick at his neck and bury his head where his smell is the strongest. 

He walks closer, trying to take in more of that sweet, sweet smell and as he does, he notices the pile of clothes on the laundry room table. It’s a familiar sight, one of folded clothes primed to return to a laundry basket, that Harry can appreciate. He loves an organized man. There’s a pile of t-shirts at the end of the table where the stranger’s been organizing and for some reason, they feel familiar. He squints and can suddenly make out two or three of them. 

Fuck.

They’re band tees. 

Just like the one that….

Oh god.

Harry blushes as the realization cascades over his body, shame and embarrassment coloring his features. This is him. The alpha who had been doing laundry before him the previous week. The alpha in the room, not ten feet from Harry, smells exactly like the t-shirt that Harry stole and stashed in his closet the previous week. 

_Borrowed_ , Harry corrects himself. Just _borrowed_.

He can smell it even stronger now, just with how near he is to the man. Harry was completely right in his hypothesis that the alpha wasn’t wearing scent blockers. Or at least, not strong scent blockers. Harry inhales a bit as he inches closer. 

Concocting elaborate romantic fantasies is a tried and true Harry Styles habit and this alpha makes it easy for him to go there so he decides he might need to announce his presence. Clearing his throat and coughing a bit, he tries to make himself known to the unnamed alpha who is wreaking havoc on his entire body.

The man jumps at the noise and he spins around, a hand coming to rest on his chest, bicep bulging in a way that Harry thinks is truly unfair. His hand is gorgeous, which is not a thought Harry’s had before about an alpha and he’s got a ‘2’ and an ‘8’ tattooed on his delicate digits. Harry’s grateful that with their proximity, he can admire him even better. 

Not in a creepy way, of course. 

The black trousers he’s wearing hug his thighs perfectly and his white tee accentuates his golden arms and the tattoos that run down them. Harry can see more ink poking out from the top of his shirt, a chest piece barely visible but evident from how see-through the shirt is. He can make out a smattering of tawny chest hair and the nubs of pink nipples and Harry can’t help but release a wave of slick at the sight. 

Sometimes he really hates being an omega. 

The stranger finally looks up at Harry, straight into his eyes, and yep, he might start hyperventilating. The eyes that meet his are the most lovely blue. They sparkle a bit as he stares at Harry. 

He wants to paint his walls that color. He wants to dye Zayn’s hair that color. He wants to take a dip in the sea that is his eyes, as embarrassing and cliché as it sounds. 

It’s almost torturous the way Harry has to bite his cheek to keep himself from blatantly inhaling the air to take in more of the smell of the most gorgeous alpha he’s ever had the pleasure of meeting. That would be rude, of course, and Harry’s nothing if not courteous.

He shoots the stranger a soft smile, the best he can do while his body is straining against his biological urges, but it does the trick. The man visibly relaxes and moves to take the headphones from his head. A waft of his scent drifts up to Harry’s nose as he shakes his hair back into place, the soft locks taunting him. Harry really, really wants to stick his nose in his shaggy, golden mop of hair. 

He sets the headphones down on the table, beside the rest of his things, and gives Harry a smile and wave. 

“Hello! Scared me a bit didn’t ya mate?” 

He’s got a Northern accent. Somewhere in Doncaster probably, Harry thinks, and he smiles widely as he talks. He has one of those smiles that Harry loves, where his entire face changes and his features wrinkle with so much joy, undeniable and beautiful as it dances across his features.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry blushes as he sets his laundry basket on the table near the strangers. “No one’s usually down here with me this late.” 

“Don’t you dare apologize,” the stranger insists before he continues. “Can’t say I mind the peace and quiet. I can see why you like it.”

Play it cool, Harry.

“Peace and quiet?” Harry teases. “Weird that I could hear your music through the doorway then.” 

Great job.

The stranger's eyes widen and Harry begins to stutter out an apology. He feels a bit brave in his presence, despite the thievery and quickly growing scent obsession. 

“Oh, I-” 

“Wow. You’re a cheeky one, green eyes.” The stranger says as he barks out a laugh. The sound is intoxicating. His scent grows more and more delicious as he laughs and that magnificent smile crinkles in Harry’s direction. 

_Green eyes._ He’s already given me a nickname, Harry thinks. Is this love?

“I am so sorry.” Harry babbles, unable to stop the apology from slipping out, even with the stranger’s approval of his teasing.

“Again with the apologizing!” He says as he gathers up the clothes and towels strewn across the table. Depositing them into his basket he laughs. “Fucking made me night, didn’t you?”

Another blush. 

Harry’s gotta stop doing that. Most everyone knows exactly what he’s thinking just from the color of his face. Once again, he thanks his lucky stars for the existence of scent blockers, or else this stranger would know exactly how enamored and yes, turned on, he currently was. 

“I love a bit of ribbing.” The stranger explains, smirking at Harry’s red cheeks. 

“I’m Harry.” He suddenly supplies.

“Nice to meet you.” The stranger says as he collects the remaining clothes and his bottle of laundry detergent, throwing them haphazardly into his basket. “Hope I’ll see you around again, green eyes.” And then he’s gone, slipped out of the room with nary a sound, just the gentle squeak of the laundry room door. 

“What the hell was that?” Harry whispers to the empty room. He hadn’t even gotten the stranger’s name. But the room still smells strongly of him and Harry takes that as a personal victory.

He quickly shoves his first load into a washer before he’s pulling out his phone and typing furiously.

**You know how mum used to say you can tell your soulmate by scent?**

He sends the text to his sister and starts the washer, forcing himself to grab the folder he brought down that contains the newest manuscript he’s been assigned. It’s great so far; a story about an alpha and omega falling in love in an alternate universe where the government assigns your mate for you. 

Nothing like reading about star crossed lovers to distract you from the most perfect smell on earth. Oh and the fact that you’ve just come face to face with the guy whose shirt currently 

resides in your closet. Oh and an alpha who you sort of think has something to do with being your true mate.

What are the chances?

Considering how embarrassing situations seem to follow him like the plague, he guesses the chances are pretty high.

Harry cracks open the manuscript then, quickly making it a couple of chapters in, forcing himself to focus on the words. Fortunately for the prospective author, he’s completely engrossed and halfway through it when his phone starts to buzz. 

Gemma seems to think calling him is an appropriate response to a text message. Good thing he’s contractually obligated to love her. 

“Gem. A text would have sufficed.” He says as he answers the phone.

She scoffs. “Excuse me? A text in response to _that_ would have been mad. Soulmate?”

“Whatever.”

“Soulmate!? H, explain.” She sounds a little impatient, in that way that she often does when Harry beats around the bush, so he acquiesces.

“You know how I used to love how Theo smelled?” Harry asks.

“Love? You mean sort of liked enough to date him for it?” Gemma corrects with a grunt. She hadn’t exactly liked his ex-boyfriend. Not in the way Harry did. Nor did she share the same affinity for his musk. He was an okay boyfriend and Harry mostly liked him because he thought he smelled good and the alternatives were pretty terrible. They’d only been together 8 months before he’d fucked off, annoyed with Harry’s smell issues. 

Okay, I guess Harry hadn’t liked his ex all that much either. 

“Yes,” Harry hisses. “Well, that was hot garbage compared to what I smelled last week. And then again tonight. Dog poo. Mildew. Rank, nasty shit.”

“Cut the dramatics. And by _what_ you smelled you mean _who_ you smelled, correct?” 

“Ugh yes. Obviously, it’s a who.” 

“Tell me everything. Immediately. I’m in such a fucking ditch in my love life you have no idea.” Gemma says. It sounds like she’s walking somewhere, maybe at the airport or out on the streets of London. He never quite knows with her. 

“You know about how sensitive I am. Especially with alphas.” Harry begins. Gemma hums in response. She’d grown up with Harry’s issues, been privy to the problems and subsequent solutions his doctor finally recommended, but it feels oddly relevant to bring up his history at this moment.

“But I don’t know what it is about this guy. I mean first off he’s dreamy and funny and-”

“Wait, how long have you known him?” she asks.

He’s silent for a minute. 

“Uh. Like five minutes.” 

“Harry, oh my god.” She groans. He knows she’s probably rolling his eyes right about now. 

“Okay yes, I haven’t known him that long but again, I just got a sense about him,” Harry explains. “Also I feel like he’d be good at teasing me a bit. You know how I feel about that.”

“Ew. Continue.”

“He smelled different. Like mum used to tell us in those stories. Like everything I love.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. And it’s not like Theo. Like Theo was fine, he smelled good enough but it was never really enough to… I don’t know? Scratch the itch?”

He explains how he found the shirt the previous week and liked the scent and then met its owner tonight for a blissful five minutes, delighted to know the smell belonged to an even cuter man. He casually omitted his bout of larceny because there were some things Gemma just didn’t need to know. 

Harry sniffs the room as he talks, trying to pick up on all the quirks of the smell that has driven him wild over the last week. There are notes of strawberries, his favorite food. It’s sweet and sugary which shouldn’t work, but it does. Maybe a bit of caramel, the way he takes his coffee, smooth and nutty and rich. Also, a touch of pine, which reminds him of Christmas, and really shouldn’t blend in with the other scents as flawlessly as it does.

There’s so much more than just the strawberries and caramel and pine that Harry can’t even begin to identify. He’s not even sure if he wants to. All he knows is that he has a strong inkling the smell is exactly what his mum had described all those years ago. Everything he loves, everything important to him. 

The story she told is the same story that has shaped his life and his dating history and god, even his career for goodness sake. The romance of it all has him swooning.

“It feels like maybe. And I’m not sure, okay? But maybe I’ve been waiting for this. For him.” Harry finishes.

“Wow. That’s…” Gemma whistles quietly. 

“Bonkers, I know.” 

“No, idiot. I was going to say amazing. That’s amazing, H.” She sounds a bit breathless but Harry thinks it might be from the conversation instead of the pace she’s walking. 

“Really? You’re not going to tell me I’m wrong? Or too much of a romantic? Or that I should wait to get to know the guy first before I make this mind-boggling pronouncement?”

“Pronouncement? Really Harry? I swear you are too much of a writer sometimes.” Gemma complains. “And yes, you _are_ too much of a romantic but you’re not wrong. Though, I would give it a _bit_ of time, Harry. Suss out who this guy is to make sure you’re right about him. You’re so sensitive that this could be something else entirely. Nothing wrong with a little reconnaissance work. You know, get stealthy with it!”

“I’m not James Bond. Bloody hate martinis.” 

“Oh I know, you’re Moneypenny.” 

Harry giggles. She’s not wrong.

“What I mean is you should get to know him. Make friends. Ask him out. Bond over laundry or summat! And stop creepy staring at him in that way I know you do.”

“Shut up.” Harry whines. He mulls over her advice, suddenly feeling pretty okay with giving up his peaceful Tuesday laundry nights if it means the hot alpha would be making an appearance in the future. Hopefully.

“I guess I could do that.” 

“In the meantime, are ya still gonna text that guy your coworker wants you to meet?”

Harry frowns. Amid the freak out he was having over this alpha, he had completely forgotten about the most recent set-up his coworker Zayn had arranged. 

“I guess so. Z and his boyfriend really want me to meet him, so.” 

“Aren’t they the same ones who set you up with the guy who told you puppies were useless creatures?”

Harry shudders. That was a terrible night. If Zayn hadn’t looked so appalled when Harry recounted the date back to him the next morning at work, Harry might not have spoken to him again, even if he had been his first real work friend and officemate at their small publishing house. 

“Yeah, that was bad. But I made Zayn promise that both he and Liam had to sign off on the next set up and that it had to be good or else I’d stop being friends with them.”

“As if you’d ever do that.” 

“I know, but I wanted to scare them! I think it worked, too.” Harry says. “It’s been two months since that last date and they’re super excited about this guy. Louis something. I think they’re friends with him so it can’t be all bad.” Harry’s feeling less and less enthused about this Louis guy the more he thinks about blue eyes guy.

“Just text him. Might be the perfect way to make sure you don’t go all-in on sexy laundry boy.”

“Sexy laundry boy?”

“What? You didn’t get his name, did you?” Gemma questions.

“No, but that’s such a terrible nickname.” He thinks fondly back to when the stranger had called him ‘green eyes’ and smiles again. 

“What if we call him snuggles. You know, like the fabric softener.” 

“We’re not nicknaming my probably-soulmate after a laundry bear.” 

“What!” Gemma sounds personally offended. “I think it’s cute. If you won’t, I will.”

There’s no point in arguing with her. 

“Fine. I’ll try to get closer to... _snuggles_...and I’ll text Louis tomorrow.” Harry decides, “But snuggles is the priority.” 

“Yes, yes, I know. I’m happy for you, Harry. I really am.” 

“Love you Gem. I’ll report back, but I’ve gotta go. Laundry’s done.” 

“Love you! Use protection.” She yells, hanging up. Typical.

Harry’s still chuckling as he deposits his phone and the long-forgotten manuscript on the table, heading over to where his load of laundry has finished in the washer. He pops open the door to the dryer above it and quickly throws a dryer sheet inside. He’s just about to deposit his wet pile of clothes inside when he spots something near the dryer’s lint trap.

He reaches in and grabs it. A new gush of the stranger’s scent hits his nose as a black sock slowly appears. He gasps, reaching inside again, and then there’s a yellow champion sweatshirt in his grasp, soft to the touch and wonderfully cozy. It’s stuck in the lint trap and Harry can barely reach it. With a tug, it releases, and again, that wonderful _alpha_ scent blows into the room and he feels himself stagger a bit where he’s standing.

Again? Really? What is with these dryers?

He throws his wet clothes in hastily and starts the dryer’s cycle before he allows himself to examine the clothes. 

He’s still confused about just how much smell the clothes are still holding, even after being cleaned and dried. He’s also continually confused by how often things are left in the room’s dryers but he doesn’t question that if it means he keeps unearthing snuggles’ amazing clothes. 

He drops the sock and sweatshirt on the table next to his phone, steadfastly ignoring them as he tries to start reading again. They mock and taunt him as he tries to finish the manuscript, an amazing plot all but forgotten as the offending fabrics emit that amazing smell and tempt Harry to do what he did with the other shirt owned by snuggles.

His mind is made up after a torturous 45-minute wait for his clothes to dry. He grabs snuggles’ sweatshirt and sock, tosses them into his laundry basket alongside his clothes, and sprints upstairs. 

When Harry gets back into this apartment, after locking the door and securing the deadbolt, he rummages around his closet and brings out the band tee. He’d been sneaking sniffs of it all week before bed and he can’t quite get to sleep without it. 

Pulling the material to his face, he allows himself to breathe in freely, shoving his nose against the softness and taking in the lingering and comforting scent of who he now knows is snuggles, hot laundry alpha. 

As it calms his rushing mind, the full weight of his conversation with Gemma hits him. He’s always believed in the gift omegas and alphas can possess: the ability to identify their true mate by scent, but he only personally knows a few people it's happened to. His mum, his friends Niall and Shawn, and his boss from his first job at his hometown bakery. 

“This is fine. It’s fine.” He addresses his empty bedroom. “It’ll all be fine. I’ll just ask Niall.”

Niall is almost annoyingly honest with him so yeah, he thinks he might get some eye-opening information from him _and_ his alpha Shawn. Harry pulls out his phone and quickly finishes typing the nightly email he sends himself with his to-do list for the next day. In addition to a short grocery list that includes ingredients to make his executive assistant Bethany cupcakes to celebrate her engagement, he adds a reminder to get a pint with Niall and Shawn to learn more about this true mate business. 

Then, all there’s left to do is go to bed which Harry finds he is more and more excited about the more he builds his nest. He takes another pull off the band tee before he sets it down carefully on his bed and heads to his en suite to get ready. 

Once his teeth are fresh and his face is dewy with serums and creams and lotions, he thoughtfully takes both the tee and the newly acquired clothes from snuggles to his bed. 

Since he’s already started building his nest, its size rapidly growing as clothes, blankets, sheets, and pillows are carefully placed around his headboard and at his feet, he easily finds a spot for his new treasures. The shirt, despite how the scent is fading, is placed right by the pillow he sleeps on, in perfect proximity to his nose. He knows his own yearning for its comfort will grow as his nest grows alongside it. He methodically arranges the hoodie in the spot where his alpha would normally lay and Harry knows it’ll be the item he clutches to his chest as he falls asleep each night. With a gentle caress of the sock, he diligently tucks it between his favorite fleece sweater and extra down comforter that create a halo around his head. 

Harry feels extraordinarily accomplished and not even a little bit bad about his stealing this time around. He’s content as he tucks himself tightly into his nest, his newly acquired alpha sweatshirt nestled in his arms. 

Sleep comes easy that night 

\---

“You’re extra happy today,” Bethany tells him after she catches him whistling a tune under his breath for the second time that morning. 

“Nothing wrong with being happy!” Harry tells her as they prepare for his next meeting. 

“No, you’re always happy but...” She sounds unconvinced. “I just got engaged and you seem about 200% happier than me.” 

He begs off her questions as the day gets busier, thankful for the distraction and that she can’t snoop anymore.

He barely has time to chat with Zayn, his calendar full of meetings and phone calls. 

He has to meet with two artists to finalize upcoming book covers and then he spends the rest of the afternoon going over his edits and notes with an author before finally ending his day in a meeting to negotiate the contract for one of their most popular romance novelists. 

He remembers to text Niall and Shawn when it nears 6 pm, grateful for their careers as musicians keep them available for last-minute pints. As he packs away all the manuscripts he needs to read and clears away his workspace, he gets two texts from the happy couple. 

**Definitely in! First rounds on us!**

Yes <3 Can’t wait to see you! Pub near ours okay?

_That’s perfect Shawn! See you two soon._

When Harry finally leaves his and Zayn’s office, he feels accomplished. The day had been good, bar a recurring set of thoughts about the alpha, and he’s ready for answers. 

\--- 

“So you’re telling me you stole not one, not two, but _three_ things from this guy?” Niall is hysterical, cheeks ruddy from the three rounds they’ve drunk.

Shawn sends an apologetic smile from across the booth. He does that often when his husband is particularly excited. 

When Niall finally calms down, giggles still falling from his mouth as he gulps his pint, he repeats the question. 

“Yes, Niall. That is what I’m telling you.” Harry says. “Now will you two tell me what’s happening to me!”

He’d done a bit of googling when he’d had service on the tube but nothing much had come up other than “alpha and omegas can indeed scent their true mate,” and “while reports vary, the consensus is that only 5% of alphas and omegas recognize their true mate when they meet.”

“Sounds like you might have met your mate.” He finally says, cheeks bulging with joy. 

“There’s no way,” Harry says. He doesn’t know why he denies it. It’s the only thing he’d been thinking about for 24 hours straight and he's certain it’s a strong possibility.

“Harry, it sort of checks out,” Shawn explains. “The scent, the clothes.”

“Okay but. That could just be because I’m so sensitive. It’s not like my nose has ever properly worked.” 

“That’s true, I guess.” Niall agrees.

“Well, when did you guys realize you were true mates? How did that work?” Harry asks. 

Niall and Shawn share an affectionate glance. 

“I mean, it’s a bit different for alphas and omegas,” Shawn explains. “But for me, when I first met Niall and first smelled him, it was different from anything I’d ever experienced. His scent made my alpha go haywire. I couldn’t relax, I couldn’t sleep.”

“And for me, it was like my omega was finally at rest. You know? I’ve never been particularly sensitive to alphas, but when I saw Shawn, it felt like my senses were heightened more than they’d ever been.” Niall adds. 

“So then what happened?”

Niall takes Shawn’s hand. “It took us a bit of time to sort our shit out.”

“But basically we both kind of felt it and danced around each other. Finally, I got my head out of my ass and asked him out.”

“A very cute ass, babe,” Niall notes. 

“And it was a magical date. And at the end, we kissed and just…”

“Felt it.” Niall finishes for Shawn. 

They kiss after that and Harry’s almost weepy at the sight. 

“So I should just let this happen? Go with it?”

“Well first, you need another drink, but yes, go with it,” Shawn says. Niall shoots him a look and he jumps up. “And I’ll just go get that round now.”

As he walks away, Niall focuses his attention fully on Harry.

“So those clothes. Have you taken them into your nest?” Niall asks. Harry splutters. It’s not like he _ever_ talks about his nest, especially when alphas are around, so he makes sure he can still see Shawn at the bar before shooting Niall a quizzical look.

“I know, I know. But I’m trying to get all the info.” Niall says. 

Harry exhales shakily. 

“Yes, they’re in my nest. All three of them.” He tells Niall. 

“And did you do this when you were with Theo?” 

After a moment’s reflection Harry shakes his head. “No, I didn’t. I barely even built a nest, let alone bring any of his clothes into it.” 

“And be honest, how quickly has your nest grown since you first met this guy?” 

Harry thinks back to when he began building his nest. It was only about a month ago but ever since he first smelled snuggles, it had grown triple its size. 

“Oh god.” 

“Oh god is right!” Niall exclaims. “I mean I could be wrong, but this guy _might_ be something.” 

\---

When Harry gets back to his building that night, pleasantly buzzed and wobbly on his feet, all he wants to do is see snuggles. Wants to investigate further. Wants to smell the full might of his scent again to work out all these different feelings and stories he’s been told tonight. 

In his tipsy state, he finds himself tiptoeing towards the laundry room. He’s not sure what he’s hoping to find there but it feels like he’s on autopilot. 

As he enters the laundry room he surveys the space. It looks exactly as it had the night before. But now, it feels different. 

It used to mean something completely different to him but in just a week, it’s become the place where the beautiful man with the beautiful eyes has taken over his senses. Harry rushes over to the row of dryers and opens them all, sniffing wildly, hoping he can be as lucky as he was the night before. He feels a bit manic as he searches but he can’t bring himself to care.

He’s unlucky in his pursuit so he pivots to the lost and found bin. He rummages through the mismatched socks and abandoned jeans, pushing aside all the discarded clothes. When he reaches the bottom of the pile, Harry stops breathing for a minute. There, underneath a ghastly leopard print tank top is a graphic tee that is achingly familiar. He pulls it out, gives it a bit of a shake, and then inhales. 

Pure relief. Pure satisfaction. Pure joy. 

It’s his. Snuggles’. Harry’s certain of it. He’d be able to pick the smell out of a line-up of thousands at this point.

He takes the shirt, holds it close to his heart, and inhales the scent as he leaves the room and runs upstairs. 

That night, as he’s falling asleep tucked around the stranger’s clothes, his newest find wedged between his legs, he hears Niall’s words echo in his head. 

_“It was like my omega was finally at rest.”_

Harry knows he has a lot to think about. He still needs to call his mum and get her opinion. He still needs to text that guy Zayn wants him to go out with. He still needs to do a thousand things. But he forgets it all as he slips into a deep slumber.

* ˚ ✵ · . ✵ 

_Hiiiiiii Louis. This is Marcel, Zayn’s friend. He gave me your number and said it might be good if we met :)_

_I’m sorry in advance for how awkward I might be. It’s always so weird getting set up, right?_

_Oh. This is Marcel Styles._

_I said Marcel but thought I’d tell you my surname in case you were expecting another set up from another Marcel._

Louis stares at his phone. The text had come in a few minutes earlier, right as he was leaving Starbucks and making his way down the street to his shop. It was Saturday and Louis was a little embarrassed to admit he’d been waiting expectantly for Marcel to text him ever since Zayn had talked him up on Tuesday.

He had been hoping for a good Saturday and as he reads the exceeding endearing string of texts from Marcel Styles, he figures it’s on its way to being one. 

**Hi Marcel. This is Louis.**

_Obviously, Louis thinks. He deletes the text quickly._

**Hi Marcel. So great to meet you virtually!**

_No, too formal. He’s literally sent that same text to his vendors before._

**Hey Marcel. Great to hear from you! And I second that, definitely weird getting set up. I feel a little helpless.**

No. It sounds like he wants pity. 

**Great to hear from you Marcel! How’s your morning going so far?**

**Oh, this is Louis by the way. Louis Tomlinson, in case /you/ were expecting a set up from another Louis ;)**

Finally. Perfect. 

Louis presses send and takes a drink of his tea. His phone buzzes against his thigh not a minute later. Louis can appreciate a man unburdened by the dumb ‘wait an hour to text back’ culture.

_I knew after I sent it that it was too much, but you never know with these blind date type things, right?_

_Oh and i”m just peachy._ _🍑_ _How about you?_

Well, that’s very cute. 

**That’s great to hear. I’m peachy too. Just heading to work now.**

_:( It’s early!_

_I have weekends off but I’m sort of in the same boat. Lots of work tasks to get done today!_

**I know! And on a Saturday, too!**

**I’m a reluctant morning person three days a week.**

_Only 3 days? Zayn never told me what you do?_

**I own a little record shop so I open the store a couple of times a week. Some nights I’m there late closing. I have odd hours most weeks.**

_That’s wicked! I got a record player for my birthday last year and it’s my favorite gift. I just ordered a heap of records from this cool shop I found online. Lots of Beatles, some Oasis, Fleetwood Mac, The Eagles, some jazz standards! Oh and I love some classics from the 50s. Patsy Cline, Paul Anka, Ella! I might have gone overboard with my order!_

_Sorry. Don’t mean to ramble. I tend to treat texts like emails sometimes_

_It’s terrible texting manners but c’est la vie._

**Don’t apologize !!!** Louis texts back. He can’t help but think back to Tuesday again when he’d said the same thing to the cute guy he met in the laundry room. Harry, wasn’t it? Green eyes. 

_I might have to come by and check out the shop sometime :) Actually, I wonder if I’ve been by before? I have been trying out some local shops lately. What’s yours called?_

**You definitely should! It was honestly a dream come true to open it. I had been saving for years and finally got approved for a loan and voila, the shop was born!**

**It’s /sort/ of in Soho. It’s called Sounds Underground.**

It takes Harry double the minutes to text him back. He’s getting closer to his shop but for once, he wishes the walk was longer, wishes he could stay out in the cold a bit longer, and just focus on texting Marcel. 

_Oh, drats! I’ve never heard of it. I love the name! And the locale!_

**Did you just google it?**

_Maybe_

_Louis giggles, actually giggles, as he reads Marcel’s text. He finds himself wishing they were on a date having this conversation even though Louis isn’t ready for that step quite yet. He thinks he might want to make sure he gets to know Marcel before he allows himself to be vulnerable again._

_Anyway, now I feel bad. I should have bought all my records from you!_

**I have a feeling you ordered your records before you even knew who I was ;)**

_I mean, yes. I ordered them a couple of weeks ago but still! I will absolutely, 100% be purchasing my next batch of records from you!_

**You’re ridiculous. But I appreciate that.**

**How’s your day going? Any big plans?**

Louis walks down the steps to his shop as he waits for Marcel to respond. When he unlocks the door and pushes his way inside the little shop, he smiles. The smell of the room is soothing and familiar. He doesn’t use scent blockers here because of how small the space is and because of how wonderful the old records smell. Every time the bell on the door jingles, he knows a new person will enter and be just as enchanted as he was when he first found the space. 

As he opens the till and does a quick check-over of the inventory Michael organized the night before, his phone buzzes again. 

He forces himself to continue sorting the newest shipment from the vendor who supplies the merchandise for his store, but Marcel wins out in the end and he scoops up his phone and reads over the newest text in a hurry.

_Saturdays are my baking and reading day!_

Oh right, Marcel loves to bake. Yet another endearing quality confirmed. 

**Now that sounds funnn**

_Yeah? Do you bake too?_

**Well, no. But I love to taste test**

_Ha! I’m sure. My friends Niall and Shawn are songwriters and one of the songs they co-wrote was just sold to some big name artist they aren’t allowed to tell me about so I’m making celebratory soda bread and ginger snaps!_

_(Oops i hope i’m allowed to tell you that)_

_Niall’s irish so it’s his favorite. And Shawn loves ginger snaps. It’s a weird combo, but it works for them!_

**Sometimes weird combos are the best, right?**

**Hahaha your secret is safe with me x**

Marcel texts him the entire day, sending updates and pictures of his baking adventures littered with questions about Louis’ life. He tells Marcel about his sisters up in Doncaster, his years working as a waiter and then a bartender, and how he’s been meaning to get a tattoo to celebrate his shop but has no idea what to get to signify his shop.

_How bout a lil record? Or a music note! Or like a “sound underground”_

**Now how exactly would I do that, mate?**

_So you have the artist draw a music note that’s in a cave…_

**You’re ridiculous, you know?**

He tells Marcel about his friendship with Zayn and that he was the one to introduce him to Liam, who he met when they were both getting tattoos when he was 22. They discuss Louis’ hatred of TikTok and his obsession with documentaries. Marcel responds to that with 10 documentary recommendations and a link to a youtube video titled “tik toks that are vines at heart ” which he steadfastly refuses to watch. 

In return, Louis sends Marcel pictures of the new merch Zayn helped design for the shop and funny stories about all his customers throughout the day. Marcel tells him about his sister, Gemma, and her jet-setting life as a stylist. He recounts his two years he worked at the bakery in Cheshire, where he’s from, as an assistant to the head baker.

**I can see where the baking passion comes from xx**

_I just love it. It’s so soothing. Sometimes i hate going to bakeries in london because i’m so picky! And then i feel bad because I don’t like what they make :(_

**You are a massive softie, aren’t ya?**

_Just maybe xx_

Marcel also tells him about his amateur writing group, wherein a bunch of omegas meet monthly to discuss their work and give each other notes. And he talks about the time he visited New York City and accidentally got lost in another state after he took the wrong Amtrak train. 

They text until Louis’ eyes are drooping as he lazes in front of the TV, apartment blissfully empty with Liam at Zayn’s, never really losing steam or running out of things to talk about. 

It’s only when Harry sends a final message for the night that Louis feels comfortable falling into his bed. 

_Okay i’m seriously falling asleep now._

_Sweet dreams, Louis x_

**Sweet dreams, Marcel x**

* ˚ ✵ · . ✵ 

Harry has barely exited the elevator at work on Monday before he’s accosted by Zayn, gripping a coffee cup with a smirk on his face.

“So? Louis? He told me you texted him on Saturday. And then all day on Sunday.” Zayn inquires. “But he was being all coy and annoying so I didn’t get any dirt.”

Harry thinks fondly back to his weekend. He can’t quite remember any of the manuscripts he read or finished, but he does remember Louis sending him little ‘x’s’ and laughing at all his jokes. He also remembers waking up on Sunday mind numbingly happy and being so surprised that the first thing he wanted to do was tell Louis good morning. 

So he did just that. And then, just like on Saturday, he lost the entire day talking to Louis and learning more about his life.

The weekend was surreal if he really thinks about it. Better than most of the dates he’d ever had in real life. They just clicked. In a way that confuses Harry, because, in the back of his mind, he’s still thinking about snuggles and his intoxicating scent.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a terrible, terrible gossip?”

“Let’s move past what you perceive to be my flaws and move on to the issue at hand,” Zayn says.

As they move towards their office, which Harry is annoyed that they share in this exact moment, he laughs.

“The issue at hand?” he asks. “You mean me texting your friend?” 

“Yes. Now spill.” Zayn says. 

“Hmm. No”

Zayn thrusts the coffee cup he’s been gripping tightly since he first saw him this morning into Harry’s hands. 

“Liam made me get you a caramel latté.” 

Harry brightens. “My favorite!”

“Yes yes. Now spill.”

“Are you two bribing me?” Harry asks as he settles into his desk and powers on his computer. He’s getting too much pleasure torturing Zayn. 

“Of course not. Just being a pal. Isn’t that what you always say when you bring in cookies and fancy pastries? Pal.”

Harry’s phone vibrates against his desk as Zayn talks. He glances at it, fingers tingling with the need to pick it up. 

Zayn’s still muttering about him being a pal so Harry takes the opportunity to subtly reach for his phone, unlocking it while trying to continue to make eye contact with Zayn. 

He peeks down and blushes at Louis’s most recent text. 

**How’s your morning? Mine’s been going on for a couple of hours you lucky duck!**

_Better now_ _🤗_ _Zayn is currently trying to bribe me with my favorite coffee in exchange for spilling the_ _☕️_ _about us_

**Ha. When he first met Liam and they hit it off, he REFUSED to answer questions about him so…**

_So what you’re saying is basically we’re Zayn and Liam now?_

**🤮** **never, Marcel. They’re the cringiest.**

_I can’t argue with you on that. Zayn tries to be all cool at work but Liam sent this obscene bouquet of flowers to the office for their anniversary and he was the pinkest I’ve ever seen him_

_How is your morning going? How are my future records?_ _😉_

“Holy shit you’re texting him right now, aren’t you?” Zayn interrupts. 

Okay so maybe Harry forgot Zayn was standing there. 

“What? No!” 

“Marcel, you stopped mid-conversation to answer that text and I can see your screen.” Zayn dryly informs him. “Also, is that a fucking emoji? Oh my god, you’re in deep.”

Harry yelps as Zayn easily snatches the phone from his hand. 

“Emojis. I knew it. And you think we’re disgusting.” Zayn says after a minute, handing his phone back and sitting down at his desk. 

“I knew I’d regret sharing an office with you one day.” He doesn’t actually mean it because Zayn is quickly becoming one of his best friends, but he sort of wants to keep this thing with Louis private for a bit longer. 

“Seriously Marcel, I tease because I care,” Zayn explains. He types while he talks, his fingers rapidly taping at the keys. “Care about both of you. And we’re a bit nosy.” 

Harry smiles. He feels the sudden urge to hug Zayn but knows he’d hate that. So he decides to be a little honest with him and finally reveals something he’d been meaning. 

“Uh Zayn.” He says tentatively. It’s always awkward when he tells people his real name and sometimes his friends don’t take it so well. 

“Yeah babes?”

“Because I love you and care about you, I wanted to tell you something.” He begins. “I wanted to let you know that technically, Marcel isn’t my real name. I just go by it at work. My real name is H-”

“Your real name is Harry, right?” Zayn interrupts. He’s smirking as he says it. This is so not the reaction he was expecting. 

“What? How did you know that?” 

“Marcel. Harry. Whoever you want to be,” Zayn starts. “I’ve got the in with HR! You know Kate has a major crush on me. I’m always snooping on the new hires.” 

Okay, that’s not surprising.

“Just figured you went by Marcel or wanted to go by Marcel. I know lots of people who do that.” 

“Oh.”

“Yeah. So why are you telling me this now?” Zayn asks. 

“Well, my family and friends outside of work call me Harry. Which are you and Liam.”

“Okay.”

“And uh, I like when my boyfriends call me Harry.” 

Zayn laughs loudly. 

“I can’t believe this confession was spurred on by Louis. I cannot wait to tell Liam.”

“No! Zayn!” He’s losing the plot quickly. “That’s not why! It’s because I wanted to be truthful with you!”

Zayn smiles. “I mean, I appreciate that, but,” He pitches his voice up to mimic him, “I like when my boyfriends call me Harry.”

Harry blushes. Definitely lost the plot. Definitely caught out.

“Okay fine, this has to do with Louis. But you can’t tell him!” Harry pleads. “I just think it’d be best in person when we go on a date. But uh, once I do, you guys can call me Harry. Just not at work.” 

“Your secret is safe with me, I won’t even tell Liam, okay?” Zayn promises. Not telling Liam. That’s big. Zayn must really care about him. 

“Thanks, Z. I want this to be right, you know?”

Zayn sends him another smile. It’s fond and a little bit knowing and Harry’s overcome with emotion for his friend. 

“Love you Z.” 

“Love you too, Marce-arry.”

Wanker.

* ˚ ✵ · . ✵ 

After spending all weekend and all day Monday texting Marcel, Louis decides to get actual work and chores done on Tuesday, letting Michael take over the shop while he works on the budget and calls vendors from home. When he finishes with that he cleans the kitchen and dutifully prepares his sheets and footie clothes for the wash.

He also concludes that he thinks someone might be stealing from him. Or else he’s the unluckiest son of bitch on earth. 

All he wants to do is wear his favorite sweatshirt to his five-a-side game tonight because it matches his team’s scrimmage vest which means he doesn’t have to wear a stinky piece of fabric over his clothes. 

And even with all the cleaning, he’s done today, he still can’t find it. He’s been rifling around his room hastily with no luck for far too long.

He checks his laundry basket again but it’s filled with the dirty footie clothes he plans to wash after the game is through. He even snoops through Liam’s impeccably organized room since he’s over at Zayn’s again, but still no luck. 

First the Black Sabbath tee, now his favorite fucking yellow sweatshirt. This is not Louis’ week. 

He pulls on one of his lesser sweatshirts and his coat before leaving and shoots Liam a text as he locks the door. 

**Hey. Let me know if you or Z see my yellow sweatshirt. The champion one. Fucking missing all me favorite clothes lately.**

As he walks to the field, he composes a text to Marcel. He’d been busy at work all day, so he hadn’t wanted to disturb him, but now that it’s past 8, he thinks he’s safe. 

**How was your busy day?**

_Phew. So glad it’s over._

_One of my author’s books is coming out next week so we’re busy busy_ _🐝_

**What’s it called!? It’s a romance right?**

_It’s called ‘The First Time I Saw Your Face’_

_And yes, romance all day everyday!_

_I love it._

**That’s wicked Marcel! Xx**

**At least two of my favorite movies are rom-coms so…**

_No way! Which ones? I have to know._

Louis chuckles at the speed of Harry’s response. A romantic, indeed. 

**When Harry Met Sally of course.**

**And Bridget Jones’s Diary.**

_I’m impressed, Louis. Those are some pretty good choices._

**Only good? What about you then?**

_Well all of my favorite movies are rom-coms._

_Love Actually. Clueless. You’ve Got Mail. Four Weddings and A Funeral. Notting Hill!!!!_

_I could go on, if you’d like._

**I’m sure you could.**

_Just kidding. I think you get the picture._

**I appreciate a man who loves a rom-com. It’s a very good trait.**

Might as well put all his cards out on the table. 

_I could say the same to you._

He’s nearing the field where his friends are hooping and hollering as they kick the football around so Louis sends a ‘ _heading for a quick workout, talk soon xx_ ’ text to Marcel before he locks his phone and jogs over to meet his friends. 

After they’ve played for a few hours, sweaty scents mixing in the cold, Louis’ limbs are heavy with exhaustion. When he gets back to his apartment he strips off his dirty clothes and takes a long, hot shower. 

Once he throws on pajamas, with the little energy he has left, he forces himself to take the stinky basket of clothes down to the laundry room. 

When he gets there he’s surprised to see another person in the room conducting late-night laundry. As he gets a closer look through the clear glass door, he notices it's the same omega from the previous week. 

Green eyes. Harry.

This must be his normal laundry day, he guesses, since he seems to be methodically folding and organizing the clothes on the table in the room. 

He feels a jolt of excitement as he enters the room, excited to come in contact with the gorgeous man again. 

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this, green eyes.” 

Harry’s head shoots up from where he’s folded over a pile of towels when Louis speaks. 

“Oh! Hello!” 

He’s blushing again, Louis notices. He likes when he does that. Gives him a better sense of what the omega is thinking, especially because he seems to be wearing the strongest scent blockers Louis’ ever experienced in the wild. Not that he thinks there’s anything wrong with that, especially considering the harassment many omegas in society have to deal with, but he can’t help but be especially curious about how this omega smells. 

“Hello, again Harry! I think I might be intruding on your laundry night.” 

“Oh, gosh no. You’re more than welcome.” Harry sputters. 

“Sick!” Louis says, walking towards the open row of washers and dryers. He takes in Harry as he moves across the room. 

He’s wearing high-waisted pants but Louis can still see the indents where his hips are. His t-shirt is tucked into the pants and Louis can make out strong muscles _everywhere_. He’s got a mop of curling, brunette hair that falls to his shoulders and Louis thinks it suits him perfectly. 

Louis plops his basket of sweaty clothes next to the machine and realizes with a groan that he’s forgotten his laundry detergent upstairs. 

“Hey, green eyes. You think you could watch my stinky footie clothes for a minute?” 

Harry nods vigorously, his eyes saucers as he promises that he won’t let anything happen to them. 

“Cheers!” 

When Louis gets back downstairs a few minutes later, Harry is finishing up his folding. His face is flushed bright red and he’s avoiding Louis’ gaze. 

“All good?”

Harry nods again. Maybe Louis’ still got soap in his hair? Or something in his teeth?

“Have I got summat on my face then?” He asks, smiling as wide as he can.

Harry’s even redder now as he examines Louis’ face. 

“No. You’re all good.” 

“You sure you’re okay then?” Louis asks. 

“Yeah. Just was thinking of something else.” Harry says. 

“Cool, mate,” Louis says. The man seems to be a blush-prone kind of person so he decides to drop it. 

They work on the respective laundry in silence for a few minutes and when Louis starts his load he turns back towards Harry. 

Harry’s already looking at him though, staring intensely in a way that sort of makes him look like a frog. 

A cute frog, though. 

“I’m gonna run upstairs while my clothes wash,” Louis tells him. “So if I don’t see you again… have a good one.” 

That seems to startle Harry and the frog-stare is quickly replaced by a beautiful smile. He’s got dimples the size of craters and as Louis leaves, he ponders if he wants to wrap Harry up into a tortilla and keep him warm or rip those pants straight off his body.

He never does come up with an answer. 

* ˚ ✵ · . ✵ 

Tuesday night had been a shameful moment in Harry’s history. 

A blemish on the timeline of his life. 

A flaw in an otherwise pretty good 27 years, if Harry does say so himself.

“His footie shorts, really?” Niall’s saying as they talk on the phone on Friday afternoon.

Harry didn’t dare admit what he did until Niall asked him why he was avoiding texts all week.

“Dirty footie shorts Niall.” Harry corrects. “Two pairs! I’m a criminal. A dirty, dirty criminal. _Literally_!”

Niall at least laughs at that.

“I mean your crime spree has been escalating a bit, H. Stealing dirty clothes from his laundry basket when you were tasked with not letting anything happen to it. That’s an inside job.” 

“What was I supposed to do? He came in the room and I almost had to leave it smelled so fucking good.” 

“Harry, I’ll tell you again. This is true mate behavior!” Niall screeches. “I went _in_ on Shawn’s clothes when we finally got together. It was like I had died and gone to heaven.”

“Niall. I just don’t know. I asked my doctor and he said because I’m so sensitive this could just be an alpha scent I’m particularly susceptible to.”

“Okay. Then go down there and fuck him or something, I don’t know.” 

He loves Niall, he really does, but he’s not sure he can go from “oh hey FYI I stole half of your wardrobe” to “let’s fuck” that easily. 

He feels the shame come over his body again, his palms sweating and the back of his neck prickling. 

He thought he had some semblance of control over everything happening in his life.

Things were going so well with Louis, he had only thought about snuggles about 20 times over the weekend instead of the normal 50 times a day he was used to. And then Tuesday night happened. 

And snuggles walked into the room.

Of course, that wasn’t the actual surprise of the night considering Harry had decided to start his laundry earlier on Tuesdays since snuggles seemed to do his laundry at that time. Hell, he was trying to follow Gemma’s advice! Get to know him! Talk to him! Become pals!

And then he walked into the room.

He walked in looking like he did, in pajamas, his hair wet and smelling fresh, his face scrubbed, his eyes a little heavy. And he was carrying that basket like it was nothing. Harry smelled it as soon as he came into the room. He couldn’t help but smell it. 

It was pungent and Harry knew most every other omega would have been disgusted by it but Harry wasn’t. Instead, he wanted to dive inside of it, wanted to make his nest only from the dirty clothes in the basket. 

He had made up his mind the moment he walked in and no amount of internal reasoning was going to stop him from what he did. 

And thus, two filthy footie shirts were added to his nest.

* ˚ ✵ · . ✵ 

Louis was in big trouble. 

Huge trouble.

Boy trouble. 

Because within two weeks, Marcel Styles had become his favorite person to talk to _and_ the cutest person alive.

He had a big, fat crush and it was driving him up the walls.

**Sriracha: yes or no?**

_Big yes_

_Okay, Avocados: yes or no?_

Louis groans. He should have known Harry loved avocados. He wants to make fun of him for it, like he does when Liam makes avocado toast in the mornings, but he’s still in that “everything you do is perfect” phase of texting a crush. 

**Trendiest food ever**

**They do piss me off - avocados**

_Louiiiiis_

**Big No, babe**

**What about bleu cheese: yes or no?**

_Yes :) love cheese_

_Coconut?_

**No!**

_Agreed!!! Except for in Almond Joys. Or smoothies! Or sometimes on certain donuts._

**Sounds like a yes to me, pup.**

_Okay fine yes._

Every conversation is another opportunity where Louis falls harder. The fear he’s been harboring, that Marcel will turn out like all the rest, starts to fade away the more emojis Marcel sends.

_This is fun, Lou_ _😉_

And again, Louis falls harder.

* ˚ ✵ · . ✵ 

Texting Louis is the _best_. 

Harry had decided that after the first day. 

It makes sense that he’s friends with Zayn and Liam because he seems to complement them in a way that Harry appreciates. He’s funny and likes to send pictures of his dog, Clifford, sleeping in weird positions. Even if he wasn’t virtually attracted to him, Harry would still appreciate the dog photos. 

After three days, Harry notices that every time he’s texting Louis, he doesn’t really care what else is going on in the world. He’s distracted from his work and the manuscripts he needs to finish continue to pile up on his bedside table. He even starts to feel phantom vibrations from his phone during meetings, so sure that Louis’ trying to reach him and desperate to whip out his phone and answer it right as their managing director is making an important presentation.

One week in and Harry’s certain Louis can see right through him. He can’t stop blushing at the daily “good morning” texts from him. He can’t stop thinking about taking the tube over to Sounds Underground and sneaking a peek at Louis. He’s definitely in too deep.

And now, when they’re at three weeks of texting nonstop and Harry can’t fall asleep without sending his own “sweet dreams” message to Louis, he _knows_ he’s in too deep.

And even though Harry is still trying to guess what he looks like beyond the “cute hair, great arse, idk he’s my best friend this is weird, Harry” he got from Zayn, he’s enjoying himself. Like before, their conversations are often enough to distract him from confusing thoughts of his delicious alpha neighbor who he still can’t decide what to do with. Besides continuing to steal his clothes, of course. 

_I’m curious and I think we’ve gotten far enough into this texting thing that I can ask you…._

**This oughta be good.** Louis replies and Harry giggles. He’s really quite funny.

**This going to be like yesterday when you forced me to rank my top ten favorite vegetables?**

_Nooooo. But I still think CARROT??!??!! as your number one choice is blasphemous._

**Marce. Please get on with it.**

Oh yeah. Marce. That’s a thing that’s been happening. Also _pup_. And Harry’s personal favorite, _sweetheart_. Harry’s wildly attached to them all. They’ve even given him the confidence to throw a _Lou_ and a _babe_ into the mix.

_Lou. FINE_

_So. Maybe a bit awkward but… when Zayn originally mentioned you to me he said he needed a few days to “get you on board”. I was a bit offended until he said you don’t always like getting set up soooo._

_Just wondering if you’d want to tell me about that? I feel similar. Haven’t always had great setup experiences._

Harry sends his message, nibbling his thumbnail as he waits. He’d been curious about it ever since Zayn had mentioned Louis to him and as the days pass and their conversations get more and more personal and serious, he thinks it’s time he satisfied his curiosity by asking.

**Phew, we’ve moved past veggies, haven’t we?**

_Sorry_

**NO apologies, Marcel. It’s a valid question. Glad we’re at this point, honest.**

**Bit of a sob story though.**

_Sob story? What do you mean?_

**So I told you about Zayn’s first two setups, remember?**

_Straight dude Jason and the boat guy, right?_

**Ding ding!**

**So anyway. The next setup was this guy who Zayn half-heartedly hyped up but I was still open to it, ya know? So we text a bit, exchange pleasantries. It was nice. Then he suggests we go for a drink that night at a pub near his**

Harry feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He knows where this is going. 

**I get there. Have a pint. The guy doesn’t show. So I text him. And nothing. No response. I waited for awhile. Wasn’t the best night of my life. And that would’ve been okay, honest. I can handle getting stood up…. Buttt… both of the dates Zayn set me up with after that ended the same way**

Harry wants to cry. _Three_ people stood _Louis Tomlinson_ up? He can’t fathom a world where that happens. 

**I eventually sort of got an explanation. The first guy got scared. The second guy was just a dick and decided he wanted to ghost me. And the third guy texted after the fact that he decided to get back together with his alpha**

**Bit of a humbling moment, eh ;)**

_Oh god, Lou. I’m so sorry. Nobody deserves that._

**Anyways. Enough of my sob story. I’d rather talk about you. Maybe argue over carrots again ;)**

Harry can sense a distraction tactic when he sees one so he replies with a carrot emoji and asks Louis if he saw the most recent Marvel movie. 

The rest of their conversation stays surface-level that night but all Harry can think about is how badly he wants to hug Louis, wants to kiss him. Wants to finally meet him.

It should probably scare him, those thoughts, but Harry just feels excited. 

So damn excited about Louis Tomlinson.

* ˚ ✵ · . ✵ 

Louis’ out to dinner with Zayn and Liam when they casually bring up Marcel.

And by casually, Liam coughs loudly and pokes Zayn, who then bursts out with the nonsequitur to rival all other nonsequiturs.

“So Marcel’s birthday is coming up.” 

Louis got a bite of salad halfway in his mouth as Zayn talks. 

“On the 1st. Just a few days away.”

So that’s good to know. 

He gets a chance to bring it up to Marcel later that night when they’re texting about the last series of Bake Off. 

**Speaking of cake, pup. I hear you might have a birthday coming up.**

_Who told_

**Zayn, obviously**

_Traitor!!!_

And thus, Louis begins planning.

* ˚ ✵ · . ✵ 

“Sooo. How’s it going with Louis?” Zayn asks. They’re sharing a pot of coffee and Zayn is unusually chipper. 

“You’re excited this morning.” 

“Just had a good night last night. Wanted to see how it was going with you.”

“I’m good.” Harry answers. “What is up with you? Other than revealing birthdays to certain individuals.”

“I’m not sorry about that,” Zayn says. “Speaking of Louis…”

“Subtle.”

“ _Speaking_ of Louis, you guys going out anytime soon?” 

It’s a good question. Now that they’ve spent a month and a half texting, Harry’s been itching for a date. He’s tried not to hint too obviously at it because he wants to respect Louis and his bad blind dates in the past, but he’s getting pretty desperate. 

“We’re taking it slow, which I appreciate. Also, I’m sure you know this since you were the reason ya know, but he hasn’t had the best experience with blind dates.”

Zayn looks guilty. 

“It’s fine, Zayn, honest. We talked about it.” Harry assures him. “But I’m just letting Louis take the reins.”

That seems to mollify Zayn. 

The subject is still on his mind as the day progresses and when he leaves for the day, still texting Louis, he thinks about the past month and a half. It’s been amazing with Louis but Harry’s still a little concerned with just how much he’s been relying on snuggles’ scent. 

He’s been seeing him every Tuesday still. As Harry enters, he’s usually leaving but he’s been quick enough a few times to swipe a couple more shirts, a pair of jeans, another tank top, and even another sweatshirt and a long-sleeved shirt.

It’s a habit at this point and his nest is better for it.

He hopes that he won’t feel the same attachment to snuggles once he finally meets Louis. He had realized just last week that the ambivalence he had felt on whether or not he wanted Louis or snuggles to be his true alpha had dissipated. And now, all Harry wants is Louis. 

* ˚ ✵ · . ✵ 

_Pumpkin, really? Who actually likes to eat pumpkin other than in a pie at Thanksgiving and I don't know, dogs????_

**Pumpkin is delicious! Pumpkin cheesecake! Pumpkin bread! Pumpkin soup!!! Pumpkin pancakes!!!**

_You have such weird tastes pumpkin boy._

**Pumpkin boy!? I call you sweetheart and pup and I get…. Pumpkin boy!?!? in return??**

_Hehehe._

_Guess I could shorten it to pumpkin. That’s cute. Right?_

_I’ve never called anyone pumpkin before!!! You’re special!!_

**Ugh. Fine. I guess that’s okay.**

_I gotta say, I was a little reluctant when Zayn set me up with you. When we first met, he introduced me to a guy he knew at uni and that did not go well._

_But he didn’t do an awful job this time ;)_

_Pumpkin_ _❤️_

* ˚ ✵ · . ✵ 

**Happy 28th pup! I sent a little something to your office today with help from Zayn. Hope you like it.**

Hary re-reads the text over and over again on his way to work, brimming with excitement. 

When he gets there, there’s a magnificent display on his desk. Besides his computer, there’s a large bouquet of pink roses, his favorite, and an even larger box next to it. 

He had a feeling Louis would be doing something for his birthday but could have never predicted it’d be this grand. 

“So what’s in the box?” Zayn asks. 

“Why don’t we just see,” Harry says, grinning wildly. 

When they finally open up the large cardboard box, Harry explodes with laughter. Zayn looks at him funny when he peers into the box. 

“What the hell?”

Inside is a cake. A very large cake. A very large cake in the shape of a pumpkin. 

It’s perfect and Harry’s screwed. 

_I love it pumpkin._

**Anything for my boy** **🎃**

* ˚ ✵ · . ✵ 

**Fancy a date?**

_With you, pumpkin? ;)_

**Yes with me, Marce. Figured it was about time I met you in person. Unless you’re 60.**

**Oh god, you’re not 60 are you?**

_I’m guessing you don’t have a daddy kink?_

**Ha ha. Very funny xx**

_Not 60 :) Still 28. Remember that birthday last week? You sent me flowers and a ridiculously large cake shaped like YOU (a pumpkin)?_

_I do dress like a grandpa sometimes, if that’s okay with you._

**Very okay with me.**

Louis feels a bit nervous as he types out his next text. This thing with Marcel has been amazing but he’s sort of ready to meet him in real life. He feels jittery as he responds, all those failed dates cycling through his brain. 

**I was thinking I’d take you out on the 14th. If you’re up for it.**

He holds his breath, waiting for a response. He can see Marcel typing and hopes the romantic in him will enjoy his proposal. 

_Really, Lou?_

**Yes, really. Does that sound okay?**

_!!!!!!!_

_!!!!!!!!!!_

_More than okay! Are you kidding me?_

Louis lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Why did he even doubt Marcel for a moment? He knows what a romantic his boy is. 

His boy. The phrase has been tumbling around in his head and his thoughts ever since they started exchanging pet names and sending more and more soppy messages to one another. He’s not sure if he’s moving too fast or should be rethinking how strongly he feels about a boy he’s only been _texting_ with, but he can’t bring it in him to care when Marcel texts him again. 

_I’m so excited lou!!! This is my dream come true._

Oh yeah, he’s screwed. 

\---

The restaurant is perfect, Louis decides. 

Everything bit of information he’s gathered about Marcel points to the fact that the obnoxious display of Valentine’s cheer is his ideal dinner spot for the holiday. 

Louis had been researching spots ever since they had a long conversation about the Sex and the City movie a few weeks ago.

_I mean, I know it's terrible._

**Soooo terrible, pup!**

_Pumpkin!!! I know!!!_

_But…_

**But what?** **🍑**

_Stop that, you demon._

**I thought you liked butts, M?**

_I obviously like butts but I’m trying to make a point here!_

**Fine fine. Go on, sweetheart.**

‘Sweetheart’ was another term of endearment Louis couldn’t help but use when texting Marcel. It was becoming a bit addicting to refer to the omega as anything but sweet pet names. 

_Anyways. That scene, when Carrie (_ _😑_ _) and Miranda (_ _😍_ _) are having Valentine’s dinner. You know?_

**Oh yeah. With all the balloons?**

_Yes! That one. Well, I always loved how decked out the restaurant was. All those balloons and the roses on the table!!!_

God, he liked him so much.

_Am I a bit loony for that?_

_Have I ruined my chances with you with my embarrassing Valentine’s declaration?_

**You haven’t ruined anything.**

**But yes, you are a bit loony.**

_Hey!_

**But that’s why I like you so much, Marce.**

The conversation that night had ended with another declaration: the declaration that sometime soon, they wanted to finally have a date night and see each other in person. 

Louis couldn’t believe it was finally happening after almost two months of texting nonstop. He was nervous but excited. The restaurant was exactly what he hoped for. 

That is to say, it was a veritable Valentine’s utopia. He had walked into an almost scentless dining room - scent blockers being pumped into the room through the vents in the ceiling. He thinks that was a wise choice, what with the holiday and the fact that even through the scent blockers, he can still pick up the scents of happiness, peace, excitement, and yes, arousal. It’s only a little disappointing that this means he won’t get to fully experience Marcel’s scent. 

There are three red roses on every table and streamers in pink, white, and red falling from the ceiling. 

Marcel’s going to love it.

* ˚ ✵ · . ✵ 

Harry’s freaking out.

Or _Marcel_ is freaking out, to be more accurate. 

He hopes Louis won’t be too offended about the whole name issue especially because he’s grown accustomed to Louis calling him Marce and he hopes he can find something cute to work with for Harry. 

_Almost there…_

**!!!!!!!**

**Have fun!**

**Be safe!**

**Use a condom or whatever**

_Gemma_

**Seriously. Have fun! I’m excited for you. Can’t wait to meet him ;)**

_I’ll call you after!_

His next text is to Zayn and Liam, who he promised to update throughout the night. He’s sure they’re getting similar updates from Louis. 

_Okay. Arriving at ~the venue~ please leave us alone for at LEAST an hour or two._

**Get it Styles!**

It feels like my kids are getting married. 

**Don’t you mean OUR kids babe.**

Yes, Li, OUR kids. 

P.S. last bit of advice, I have it on good authority one Louis Tomlinson is into legs so do with that what you will xoxoxoox

**Be SAFE!**

_You two are maniacs. Aren’t you supposed to be enjoying your own Valentine’s Day instead of piggybacking on mine and Lou’s?_

**Zayn he said “Lou” I am swooning.**

We’re celebrating tomorrow. Needed to be on call tonight. For the kids

_Oh, naturally._

_I’m turning you off now._

Turning us off and turning LOU on

Harry blushes. That might be the plan.

**Bet he’s blushin, Z**

_GOOD NIGHT._

And lastly he messages Shawn and Niall.

_Okay date is commencing shortly. Thanks for all your help!!!! Love youuuuuu_

**We love you Harry! Niall says the same thing but he’s currently making us a romantic dinner!**

GET IN!!!

He giggles as he silences and pockets his phone, his taxi slowing. Perfect timing, Harry thinks as the restaurant Louis had texted him comes into view. Harry can see flashes of Valentine’s Day paraphernalia from his window. 

“Thanks, mate.” He tells the driver, passing over a few bills and gathering the bouquet that had been sitting in the seat next to him as they made their way to the restaurant. They’re Louis’ favorites, which he had skillfully deduced all on his own from the many Sunflower emojis Louis sends him.

London is cold in February and Harry tugs his coat tighter as he crosses the cobblestone street to the restaurant’s door. It looks lively inside and he welcomes the warmth and the absence of too many pheromones as he enters. 

There’s a beta at the hostess desk, her nails painted cherry red and dress a startling pink that Harry appreciates. His shirt is pink tonight, as are his nails, all perfectly picked out for this date.

It had taken him three hours, two facetime calls, and one frantic text to Niall and Shawn demanding that they come over and help him for Harry to decide on this very ensemble. 

“Hello,” Harry says cheerily. “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

The hostess looks a bit annoyed at his demeanor but nothing is going to put a damper on his mood tonight. 

“I’m meeting Louis Tomlinson. I think he might already be here?” He tells her. She swipes through the reservations on the iPad that’s balanced precariously on a small podium and then hums.

“Yes, he’s here. Let me just grab your coat.” 

“Wonderful!” Harry says, shirking his thick pea coat off and into her arms. “Which table is his? Do you know? It’s a blind date.” He says with a shy smile. 

That gets a reluctant quirk of the lips from the hostess. 

“Yeah - he’s right over there,” she says, pointing to a corner booth with a bouquet of pink roses, his favorites, at the empty seat. 

Harry follows her finger and then he sees him.

It feels like someone’s poured ice-cold water down his back. 

Sitting at the table, nervously drumming his fingers against a menu is _him_. Snuggles. Laundry alpha. His potential true mate. 

He turns to the hostess, who’s eyeing him strangely. 

“Are you okay sir?” She asks. 

“That man. In the red sweater. That’s Louis Tomlinson?” He asks her intensely. She’s still clutching his coat as she nods. 

She nods. “I led him to the table myself not 10 minutes ago.” 

“Oh my god.” 

He’s frozen in place but he can’t take his eyes off of Louis. His mind tries to reconcile the fact that the man he’s meeting for a first date, on Valentine’s Day, is snuggles. The man he’s been texting for almost two months is the same man he’s been stealing clothes from since December. 

Fuck.

Sunflowers suit him, Harry thinks as he watches as Louis adjusts the napkin in his lap three times before he must decide it works, smiling brightly as a waitress approaches the table. 

His smile is just as luminous as it was two months ago when he first met him. 

Harry tries to think rationally about it all. This could be the best-case scenario, right? He’s been trying to figure out if snuggles, the man he’s scarily attracted to, is somehow his true man. And it turns out, it’s the same guy Zayn set him up with and is pretty sure he loves after a two-month virtual relationship.

What the fuck kind of You’ve Got Mail nonsense is this?

And then it feels like another gallon of ice water has been dumped down his back.

While Harry knows all about Louis, Louis thinks he’s Marcel Styles. _His_ Marce. _His_ sweetheart _._

And Louis also knows him as Harry, his weird neighbor that’s always in the laundry with him. His weird neighbor who has been stealing his clothes for months and holy fuck, making a nest out of them.

He suddenly feels sick, nausea clawing at this throat. In an instantaneous decision, he’s grabbing his coat back from the hostess and running out of the restaurant without even one look behind. 

* ˚ ✵ · . ✵ 

Louis’ been nibbling on his bottom lip for twenty minutes. 

Twenty minutes past seven, when he was scheduled to meet Marcel. 

He shoots off another text, trying not to sound too desperate. 

**Hey sweetheart. Me again! Hope everythings okay. I’m still at the restaurant, hope to see you soon :)**

He shuffles around a bit, suddenly self-conscious about the bouquet of flowers he brought with him, certain that every other diner here has clocked that he’s been stood up. He sniffs the air, but no one seems to be sending him nervous pheromones so maybe it’s all in his head. It doesn’t matter, he thinks. Marcel will be here soon.

Right?

Swallowing, Louis adjusts his scratchy sweater and takes a sip of the water the waitress has refilled twice. He’s got his eyes glued to the door now, hoping every new omega that walks through the door is his Marcel, rushing in with apologies about traffic or a tube stoppage. 

Another five minutes pass. 

He pulls out his phone, dreaming there’s a text waiting for him from Marcel. 

Nothing. 

He draws circles on the table with his nails, teeth back to chewing on his lower lip as he stares at the door again. 

Marcel wouldn't do this to him, right? 

They’d talked about it, that's the thing. Had discussed how terrible it was to get stood up. Louis had even admitted how he’d had three subsequent cry fests following the three dates that stood him up. 

There’s a cheesy love song playing throughout the restaurant and while it had filled him with cheer and reminded him of Marcel when he first walked in, now it just sounds like it’s mocking him. 

Ten more minutes pass and suddenly, it’s a quarter to eight, and Marcel’s 45 minutes late. The waitress, who had been eyeing him with pity all night, makes her way over to him with a gentle smile. 

“Sir, are you still expecting company?” She asks, but Louis knows she knows the answer already. 

“I’m sorry. I’ll just head out,” Louis sputters. He collects the bouquet and drops a few bills on the table as he hurries out into the cold London air. He’s surrounded by other restaurants decked out in Valentine’s paraphernalia, revelers holding hands and cuddling as they walk down the street. 

“Fuck.” He groans into the night. The smell of _love_ hits him as he walks past more and more couples and it makes him feel a bit ill. 

By the time he makes his way home, walking the entire journey, Louis feels exhausted and disappointed. 

More disappointed than he’s ever felt if he’s being honest. Undoubtedly more disappointed than the three stand-ups from the faceless men Zayn had set him up with months ago. Hell, he’d only exchanged quick pleasantries with them and he’d still been upset. 

This is different and his mind doesn’t quiet the entire walk home.

When he finally gets back to his flat, he realizes he’s still holding the bouquet - pink roses, Marcel’s favorite. He tosses them on his ground near the entrance to his building, not caring that they’ll probably soon be destroyed by the rain that has started to fall. It’s a fitting end, Louis thinks. 

When he gets into his flat, he slams the door and groans, sitting against the cold, hardwood. He thinks back to the thousands of texts he’d shared with Marcel. The confessions, the flirting, the _pet names_ for goodness sake. He hasn’t called anyone sweetheart in years. 

Straightening up, Louis brushes away the errant tear that’s fallen down his cheek as he pulls his phone out. He needs to say his peace before Marcel comes through with the same tired excuses every other guy who stood him up before has used. 

He texts Zayn first. 

**So much for Marcel Styles. 45 minutes later and no show. You owe me a week of no PDA for this...**

Then he moves on to Marcel.

**Hey Marce...**

* ˚ ✵ · . ✵ 

**Hey Marce…**

**I hope you’re okay. Um, I waited for you tonight. Did I get the time wrong or summat? I’m sure something big happened because I know you wouldn’t do this to me. Right? Anyway, I really hope you’re safe. I couldn’t stand it if something bad happened to you, sweetheart.**

**I tried to call. I know we haven’t exactly done that yet, but just wanted to be sure you’re okay.**

**I guess I’m just confused. I um, I really like you. A lot. More than I thought I would. But I’m not mad. Just confused and feeling really sad.**

**If you don’t want me anymore, that’s okay. Or god forbid, if you saw me at the restaurant and didn’t want me anymore, that’s okay too. I just want what’s best for you. Maybe just let Zayn know you’re okay if you don’t want to talk to me. My alpha is going a bit mad worrying about you.**

**Anyways. Sorry for the long text.**

**Bye Marcel.**

Then he re-reads the text from Zayn. 

Harry. What the actual fuck? Are you kidding me. Louis just said you never showed?! Call me. 

Then he goes back and re-reads Louis’ message, his jaw clenched and tears falling down his face. He’s alone in his nest, still wearing the pink shirt he put on three nights ago when he was so excited, so sure of his potential future with Louis Tomlinson. 

The room is dark, but his phone is bright, the light of Louis’ text stripping him bare. The only thing bringing him any semblance of comfort is the smell radiating from his nest of his alpha. His Louis. 

He has no idea what to do. He has no idea what to say. He’s fucked up so badly and hates himself for what he’s done to Louis. 

For the third night in a row, he cries himself to sleep, surrounded by Louis’ clothes, picturing his hopeful face on Valentine’s day.

\---

Harry heads to work on Monday after a weekend spent avoiding his phone.

Zayn seems to be doing the same thing with him. 

Their office is silent and he won’t make eye contact. He’s civil in their mid-morning meeting and then it’s back to the cold shoulder. Harry can smell the anger and disappointment on him and he seems to be plucking at his keyboard louder and louder. He really can’t blame him. He hadn’t even had the courage to answer the many texts and calls from both him and Liam. 

But Harry really can’t take it any longer, desperate to confess, desperate to have Zayn understand. 

Finally, after a particularly passive-aggressive clearing of Zayn’s throat, as he tries to leave the room, Harry blurts it out.

“I’m stealing his clothes!”

Zayn’s almost completely out the door, that cold shoulder still fully intact, but at the sound of Harry’s voice, he slowly pivots where he’s standing. 

“Excuse me?”

 _Finally_.

“How could you not tell me he lives in my building, Zayn? My _building._ ”

“What? Of course, I told you.” Zayn looks pissed, arms crossed defensively over his chest, eyebrows furrowed.

“I think I would have remembered if you had told me my blind date slash best friend of yours lives in the same building as me.

“He’s Liam’s roommate. That’s why I know about the building.” Zayn says. “I told you that when I suggested the place to you, Harry.”

Harry smiles a little. Nothing like insisting Zayn is wrong and inciting an argument to get his friend to start talking to him again.

“You said that you knew ‘a super great place where some friends lived’ that you thought I’d like,” Harry explains. “We had only just met.”

Zayn’s silent for a minute before the realization passes over his face. 

“Fuck. I didn’t tell you did I?” Zayn smacks his hand to his forehead and groans. “I thought I had mentioned Li living there.”

“I told you!” Harry squawks. 

“What the fuck does that have to do with you standing up Louis? My _best friend_ , Harry.” Zayn’s emotional now. “I fucking did this to him three times and I could have sworn you were different.” 

“I am,” Harry pleads. “I am different. I’m fucking stealing his clothes, Zayn!”

“What does that even mean Harry?” Zayn shouts, rolling his eyes. “You seriously make no sense most of the time.”

Harry sighs. 

“I’ve been stealing his clothes, Zayn. For months.” Harry says nervously. “It started sort of normal, ya know. Like I just found this shirt in my laundry and it smelled so good and you know how I am with alpha scents.”

“The most sensitive omega I’ve ever met.” Zayn scoffs.

“Anyways, after I stole the shirt, I met its owner. He smelled _so good_ , Zayn. Best alpha I’ve ever smelled. And it felt like maybe he was, I don't know…”

“Your true mate.” Zayn answers for him, awestruck.

“Yeah. And it kept happening. I took anything I could from him. And while all that’s happening, I’m texting Louis. And it’s going amazing. I like him so much, you could tell.” 

Zayn nods. He had been privy to both Harry and Louis’ giddy smiles when a next text would come in from one another. 

“Okay, but what does this have to do with you standing him up?” Zayn asks. It’s a valid question.

“I’m getting there, promise.”

Zayn nods for him to continue.

“So I’m torn between this mystery alpha from my building, who I am actually _stealing_ from, and Louis, who I like so much and who’s your best friend. And finally, I start feeling really good about Louis, cause you never know, I might be wrong about the true mate thing with that other guy. And Louis plans my perfect date. On Valentine’s Day!”

“And it’s the same guy. Laundry guy was Louis.” Zayn finishes for him. He collapses into his chair and rubs at his forehead. “Holy shit.”

“I know. I panicked, just ran out of the restaurant and hid.” 

Zayn looks torn between wanting to congratulate Harry and rough him up a bit. It’s not a comforting combination. 

“Fuck, and there’s also the thing with your name.” Zayn reminds himself.

“Yeah. So I have to explain that _and_ that I’m the same guy from the laundry room. And wait, I’m also stealing his clothes and making a fucking nest with it.”

Zayn gasps.

“A nest? Holy shit Harry. That is big.” He’s grateful that Zayn’s an omega at this moment. He understands just how special, private, and important an omega’s nest is. 

“It’s no excuse and I feel like the worst person alive, but I’m just scared.” 

Zayn smiles and makes his way over to Harry, wrapping his arms around him and squeezing tight. It’s not the hug he wants at this moment, but he’s appreciative of Zayn’s friendship and familiar scent. 

“It’ll be okay. Louis’ understanding. He’ll get it. Especially because if I understand correctly, he’s your fucking soulmate, Haz.”

Harry wipes away a stray tear from his cheek and nods. 

“Okay. I’ll talk to him. I’ll fix it.”

* ˚ ✵ · . ✵ 

On Tuesday night, Louis heads to the laundry room in the hopes that he’ll get to see green eyes again. He could use a little happiness after five days straight with no response from Marcel, no news from Zayn, and a hole in his heart the size of England. 

He hasn’t been sleeping well, either. His mind runs on a constant loop and his alpha is overactive, making him snippy and unhappy. His friends have been great, supporting him and making sure he’s not too depressed, but he can’t quell his thoughts even for a minute. 

So tonight, on laundry night, he’ll take any comfort he can get. 

Louis’ pretty sure Harry will be down in about an hour or so, if he has his schedule memorized correctly, so he goes through the motions of throwing a few loads in and plays a couple of rounds of words with friends against Liam. 

When he hears the door open just past 10:30 pm, Louis smiles. Like clockwork.

Green eyes smiles beatifically at Louis as he waves hello and finally, Louis’ omega feels a bit at ease. 

“Hi.” He greets him. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Green eyes laughs in the way that Louis loves, with his nose scrunched and mouth wide, eyes scrunched up in joy. It’s like he thinks Louis’ the funniest person on earth. He’ll take it.

“I figured I might see you.” He replies as he plops his laundry basket next to Louis. “Brought something with me.” 

He lifts a Tupperware container of what looks like cupcakes and grins at Louis. 

“Cupcakes! I had extras!!”

“You often walk around the building carrying leftover cupcakes?”

He blushes. God, Louis loves that. 

“Well, I’m not complaining. What flavor we got?”

“Oh! They’re pumpkin. I’ve been experimenting.” Green eyes says. 

Louis smiles. He has to admit getting comforted by the gorgeous smelling omega he’s been eyeing in the building is not a terrible way to try to get over Marcel. 

As Marcel’s name enters his brain so does another memory. 

“Did you just say pumpkin?” 

* ˚ ✵ · . ✵ 

“Um yes. They’re pumpkin cupcakes? With cream cheese frosting. Oh, and a toffee crumble.” Harry explains. 

It almost physically hurts him to be so casual with Louis. All he wants to do is throw the cupcakes to the side, scream an apology, and kiss him with abandon. 

“Pumpkin?”

“Yes. Pumpkin.” 

Fuck, Louis doesn’t look like his Louis. He’s got dark circles under his eyes and Harry can tell he’s weary and stressed. He can smell it coming off him in droves. 

There’s also an undercurrent of curiosity in his scent, mixed in with the anxiety, sadness, and anger that he hates to smell on the man he loves. 

“I like to bake and I had extras.” He tries to sound as neutral as possible, not wanting his true feelings about Louis to come to the surface just yet. He has no idea where he’s going with this or _how_ this is all going to end.

“Oh. Thank you. That’s uh. That’s very kind of you, Harry.” Louis says as he finally takes the container. 

He sets it down next to his laundry basket that Harry has been eyeing, desperate to grab another shirt or two while Louis isn’t looking.

“Anyways, I’ll just get back to my laundry then,” Harry says, grabbing his basket and turning his back to Louis as he throws clothes into the waiting washer. 

Louis hums from behind him. He can hear him clicking away on his phone and before he realizes what’s happening, his phone, which sits right next to the container of cupcakes where Louis is currently standing, dings. 

He feels the air leave his lungs and his heart begins to beat off-kilter. 

There’s another ding. It reverberates throughout the room, the only sound Harry can focus on, even as the washer and dryer whir and spin loudly.

Ding. Again.

Fuck, there’s no hiding it now. 

He swivels and turns to face Louis, who’s staring at him with confusion, relief, and worry in his eyes.

“Pumpkin, babe. You made me pumpkin.” 

“ _Oh_.”

He’s done it. He’s ruined it. He’s been caught out. 

Louis’ looking at him expectantly with those blue blue eyes he’d immediately loved and he can’t think straight. 

“So is your name Harry or Marcel?” Louis asks. He doesn’t _look_ mad but Harry’s omega is going haywire. He wishes Louis would place his hand on his neck, would release some calming pheromones, something. Anything. 

“Harry Marcel Styles.” He whispers. “I go by Marcel at work because I always have.”

“Okay. I guess that makes sense.” Louis replies. His brow is furrowed as he thinks. Harry hates it. 

“And because I self publish romance novels under the name Harry.” 

Louis shoots him a quizzical look. 

“I can’t say I’m surprised by that, knowing how you feel about romance,” Louis says, a reluctant smile blooming across his face. 

“I’ve always been obsessed with the genre. Movies, books, songs...”

He trails off when he sees the pained expression in Louis’ eyes. 

“Babe. Please. Can you explain what’s going on?” Louis pleads. Harry can smell how stressed he is, how uneasy he is, how confused he is. Underneath it all though, Harry can still smell a bit of happiness, a bit of affection and it’s all pointed at him. “I just. You left me.” Louis’s voice cracks and he clenches his jaw. 

“Oh God, Lou. No. I didn’t mean to.” 

“Yeah, but you did Marce.” Louis asserts. “Or Harry. Shit. I don’t even know what to call you.” 

“You can call me whatever you want Louis.”

Louis rolls his eyes. 

“I’m not going to call you anything you don’t want me to call you, green eyes,” Louis explains. “Fuck. Guess I shouldn’t call you green eyes then?”

 _Green eyes_. Harry’s omega settles just a bit at the familiar endearment. 

“No!” He blurts. “Green eyes is good. So is Harry. Marcel is really just for work. I only told Zayn my real name a week ago. I like the separation.”

“Harry. Okay.” Louis looks weary and suddenly Harry remembers where they’re standing, in the middle of the laundry room, dirty and clean clothes strewn about around them. 

“I want to explain, Louis. Please let me explain.” Harry repeats.

Louis sighs and turns around, grabbing his laundry basket and heading towards the door. Harry’s about to run, scream, yell, do something to stop him from leaving but then Louis’ turning back towards him, a tentative smile on his face. 

“Well? Are you coming with me?”

* ˚ ✵ · . ✵ 

“This is so weird,” Louis says as he exits the laundry room, Harry following behind him slowly. Louis has noticed that Harry hunches as he walks, which makes him look shorter than he actually is. He can’t help but still be endeared by him, even as he tries to sort through the torrent of emotions running through his brain. 

“Yeah,” Harry mutters. 

He’s quiet behind him and Louis wishes that he could smell Harry in the same way he wishes Harry _couldn’t_ smell him. He knew a lot of omegas wore scent blockers, as did many alphas, but Harry’s were _strong_. Even when he was blushing and embarrassed, Louis could only figure out what he was thinking or feeling from the expressions on his face. 

It was what intrigued him about Harry from the moment they met.

But now, Louis is trying to reconcile the fact that the person he’s been texting for the past two months, falling head over heels for, is also green eyes. 

He wants to be okay with it all and just forgive Harry, but his alpha won’t allow it. He’s confused and hurt still, wondering why Harry would do this. All he’s ever known of him is kindness and sweetness and Louis doesn’t know what to think.

Harry follows dutifully behind Louis until they reach the bench that sits in the back of the recreation room of their building. It’s blissfully empty at this time of night so Louis gestures at Harry to sit down beside him and waits for the words to come.

When Harry does begin to speak, there are tears in his eyes and he’s choked up. All he wants to do is release calming pheromones and tuck Harry into his chest, but he needs to hear him out first. 

“I’m sorry, Lou. I’m so sorry.” Harry pleads. “You don’t have to forgive me, you don’t have to talk to me again, you never have to see me again, but I just want to explain.” 

And then he does. 

He tells Louis how it started; meeting Zayn at work, getting a housing recommendation from him, becoming friends, and finally having Zayn set him up with Louis. He tells him that even before they started texting, he was falling for him, all from his scent. Harry even confesses to stealing Louis’ clothes, which solves a lot of his wardrobe related problems. And then he tells him that while all of this was happening, he was falling for Louis over text.

It’s all very surreal and Louis’ still not sure what to make of it. 

And then, Harry drops the biggest bomb.

“And the reason I got so scared. Why I walked out. Is because I think. Well, I _know_ that you’re my soulmate.” He whispers. “Your clothes are in my nest and my omega has never felt this way before. You’re my true mate. I did my research.” 

Louis’ shocked. He’s never really believed that alphas and omegas can sense their true mates when they come around. And he can’t even _smell_ Harry. 

As nervous and upset as Harry is, he seems sure about how he feels but it doesn’t matter, all the information is making him spiral, his alpha giving him mixed signals about the omega next to him. 

“I think I need some time, Harry. I’m sorry.” He finally admits. As much as he wants to touch Harry, to finally kiss him, he can’t bring himself to bridge the gap just yet.

Harry looks crestfallen, but he tells Louis he understands, allows him to leave, and reminds him that he has his number.

It hurts his alpha to leave him on the bench, but Louis resolves to work through the confusing melee of feelings going through his mind and sit down, well-rested, and talk to him tomorrow.

No matter what he decides about their relationship.

* ˚ ✵ · . ✵ 

Harry jerks awake to the sound of someone pounding at his door. 

_Now what_ , Harry thinks.

He grabs his phone to check the time, hoping there’s also a message from Louis after their stilted conversation, but the only thing blinking on his screen is the time: 3:22 AM. 

_What the fuck_

Whoever is at his door won’t let up and Harry’s furious at this point. 

Not only did he maybe lose the probable love of his life yesterday, but now his already dreadful night of sleep has been interrupted by some interloper. He forces himself up and out of his nest, pulling on a robe and shaking out his unruly curls. 

He’s halfway asleep as he rips open the door, so ready to yell at whoever is _still_ pounding at it.

He’s not sure who he was expecting but it isn’t this. 

It’s Louis, with deep bags under his eyes, hair a mess and eyes wild. He smells _intense_ , more strongly than he ever has before and it makes Harry stutter and takes a step back. 

“Louis?”

“I could smell you.” He blurts out. He’s only got one sock on and his shorts are on backward but he’s here, in front of Harry. 

“What?” 

“I could _smell_ you, Harry.” He repeats. “For the first time.”

“Smell me?” Harry’s too tired to even comprehend what Louis’ saying. “How is that even pos-? He stops mid-sentence with a gasp. 

“Oh god.” He says, rushing to his room, not really caring that he’s leaving Louis standing in the hallway. Inside, he whips open the top drawer of his vanity and groans. There, in his monthly pack of heat and scent blocking pills, is last night’s dose. Untaken. 

Fuck. 

It’s been _ages_ since Harry’s forgotten a dose _._

The last time he accidentally forgot to take his pill he had almost gone into early heat and had spent the day furiously applying spray scent blockers so that alphas at work would stop staring at him. 

He grabs at the pills and swallows them hurriedly, hoping that he caught himself early enough to prevent going into full-on heat. 

It quells his stress for a moment and then he’s back to reality. Back to his alpha at his door. His alpha who can _smell_ him. Smell his emotions, smell his _love_ , most likely. 

He patters back to the door, suddenly a lot more awake and a lot more nervous. 

When he opens it again, Louis’ still outside waiting. He’s pacing the hallways, a manic look in his eyes, but he halts when the door creaks open. 

“I smell it, Harry. I smell _you_.” He repeats, again. 

“Lou. I know. I forgot my pills. That’s why.” He explains. 

He shakes his head furiously. 

“No. You don’t get it. It’s you. I smell you, finally. And it’s you! You’re what I’ve been waiting for.” He says, staring deep into Harry’s eyes. 

He’s speechless for a moment, trying to understand what Louis means. He doesn’t want to believe it when not six hours ago Louis was rebuffing him and walking away into the night.

“Smell me, sweetheart,” Louis whispers as Harry’s eyes flicker across his face. “I know you’ll be able to tell.”

With Louis’ permission he lets himself go, lets himself breathe deeply. 

And then it hits him again. Just like the first time, when he took that initial shirt. He breathes in his scent and now, unlike before, it’s deeper and layered and coming directly from Louis’ skin. 

Affection. Understanding. Relaxation. Happiness. _Love_.

He picks up on all of it and then he fully understands what Louis’ trying to tell him. 

“Pumpkin?” He whispers as the tears start to fall and then Louis’ rushing forward, grasping at his waist and kissing him. 

It’s perfect. 

It’s everything he’s ever needed. 

It’s pine, caramel, and strawberries all over again, mixed with his own scent, swirling together in perfect harmony. 

Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s neck and thumbs his fingers across the pulse point in his neck and he can hear him breathing deeply, taking in more and more of their combined scents as he kisses him harder. 

“My omega,” Louis growls, deep in his chest. The sound reverberates and turns Harry’s legs to jelly. He can feel himself falling deeper into Louis’ arms and is thankful for his strong grip as he maneuvers them inside, shutting the door behind him with a thud. 

They separate then, Harry breathing heavily against Louis’ chest. He can’t help but lean in and taste Louis’ neck, his hand coming up to twirl around the hair he’d been wanting to feel for months. Louis lets out a sound that’s a mix between arousal and frustration and when Harry pushes his hand against Louis’ groin, he can feel just how much he’s affecting his alpha. 

“Alpha,” Harry whispers as he nibbles at Louis’ neck. 

Louis moans in return and kisses him again, his hand coming to rest at the bottom of his spine. Harry itches to have Louis’ fingers dip further, to feel how slick he is, but he wants to do this right. 

With as much willpower as he can muster, he separates their lips. 

“Louis.” He’s still whispering, afraid to disturb the moment. “Come to my room?” 

Blue eyes meet his and Harry can see the awe and shock on Louis’ face. 

“You’d let me see your nest?” He asks shyly. 

“I made my nest for me and my alpha,” Harry explains. “It’s for _us_.”

He detaches their bodies and reaches down for Louis’s hand, intertwining their fingers as he leads him towards his bedroom. 

Harry’s not that nervous, really, but there’s still an undercurrent of apprehension in his scent. He knows Louis can sense it because he drops a kiss to the back of his neck, the back of his hand, and then to his neck as they get to the door. 

When he finally opens the door he closes his eyes as Louis surveys his space. All he wants is for Louis to love it, to appreciate it, and to be proud of him. 

“Oh, Harry. It’s beautiful.” Louis breathes. He’s got his hand against the small of Harry’s back and the gentle caress of his fingers grounds him in reality. 

It’s the first time he’s ever shown anyone his nest and the worry he had been feeling is suddenly replaced with love, Louis’ approval of his space making him hum with joy.

He doesn’t want to wait any longer to hold Louis again so he spins around to where Louis’ crowding in behind him and throws his arms around his neck. 

“Kiss me?” Harry asks. He’s not sure he could take another minute without Louis’ lips on his. 

“Yeah?” Louis breathes, but he’s already inching forward, gaze flitting from Harry’s eyes down to his lips. 

“Please.”

“You smell so gorgeous, baby.” Never smelled anything like it before.” Louis whispers as he nuzzles into Harry’s neck, nipping lightly at the skin. Harry groans. 

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I understand and I forgive you.”

Harry feels a bit overwhelmed as Louis’ words cascade over him. His omega is at peace from both the scent and verbal confirmation of Louis forgiving him and he’s fuzzy and floaty and oh, so happy.

Louis’ holding him gently as they kiss, shuffling slowly towards his nest. Harry grips at Louis’ strong shoulders as they carefully fall into bed, in between all his favorite clothes and blankets that smell like the perfect combination of their two scents. 

It’s a monumental moment, allowing Louis to actually lay beside him in his nest and hold him close. And he knows, at that moment, that Louis will always care for him and always be there for him.

“It’s okay,” Louis says, as Harry’s starts to tremble once they’re completely horizontal. “I’m here. I have you my sweet omega.” He rubs at Harry’s arms, down his back, and drags his finger across Harry’s mating spot on his neck. Harry shivers at the feeling. Louis’ releasing calming pheromones and Harry’s certain he’s never felt anything so comforting, anything that feels more like home. 

Christ, he smells so damn good. 

He mumbles something against Louis’ chest, where he’s clinging to him.

“Hmm? What was that?”

“Want you.” Harry whimpers urgently. The smell of the two of them, here in his nest, leaves him breathless. He can feel and smell the slick running down his leg.

Louis can smell it too if his flared nostrils are any indication. 

“Want you too,” Louis growls, keeping his eyes locked on Harry’s, moaning as he takes a big whiff of the air. “Smell so good Harry.” 

Harry’s insides twist at the arousal coating Louis’ words, his cock twitching and his body releasing more slick. Louis’ hovering above him now, in the middle of the mattress, surrounded by all the clothes Harry had pilfered.

Louis flits his eyes across the bed again and groans. 

“My clothes look good here.” He tells Harry. “Look good in your nest. _Smell_ good. Smells like us.” 

Louis’s nostrils flare and then he’s dipping down to Harry’s neck and licking at his skin reverently. He shirks the robe off Harry’s body before he pulls down the collar of his t-shirt, sucking a love bite into the skin where his collarbone meets his neck. 

He moans as Louis works at his skin and then he can’t take it any longer. 

“Lou, please. I need you. I want you. Fuck me.” 

And then Harry lets himself fall.

\---

He wakes up in the warm, safe halo of Louis’ arms. The alpha is sleeping soundly, breath coming out in soft puffs of air against Harry’s neck as he expertly spoons him. 

Light is streaming into the room from his window, catching on his disco ball that’s hung in the corner. Beams of glittering sunshine bounce around the room as Harry slowly wakes. 

For a second, he lets himself just listen to Louis breathe behind him. He’s got one of his arms acting as a pillow, Harry’s curls fanning out on warm, tan skin. The other is curled around his waist, a heavy and welcoming weight. 

“Pumpkin,” whispers Harry. 

He’s not sure if he was loud enough to get his attention but then he feels Louis moving behind him. 

Of course, he heard him, he’s his soulmate after all. 

Harry could get used to the sound of Louis waking up. He’s snuffling a bit and stretching out his legs where they tangle with Harry’s under the covers. When Louis yawns loudly into his hair, Harry can’t hold off any longer, twisting in his arms that they’re face to face.

Louis’ happy morning face is staring back at him, eyes especially blue in the morning sun. 

“Morning baby.”

“Morning Louis.” 

“How are you feeling sweetheart?” Louis asks, tucking a curl behind Harry’s ear and pulling him closer. 

“Happy. Sore.” Harry replies. 

Louis laughs.

“I don’t feel too bad about that.” 

“I know you don’t.”

Louis leans in to kiss him then, morning breath be damned. 

“I love you, sweetheart.” He whispers. “I’m so happy it was you. So glad you’re my soulmate.” 

It should feel surprising, Louis’ confession, but it’s really not. Harry knew Louis loved him the moment he got to his door the night before. 

“I love you,” Harry says. “So much.” 

“It’s you and me green eyes.”

His alpha kisses him again and Harry smiles. It’s his happy ending and it’s better than any of the rom-coms he’s ever seen, any of the books he’s ever read, and every fairytale his mum ever told him. 

“Forever.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this and to the person who submitted the prompt, I really hope you liked it! 
> 
> If you enjoyed reading this, I would adore (ha) if you'd send a kudos, leave a comment, and/or reblog the [ fic post. ](https://cocoalou.tumblr.com/post/641140120343429120/title-only-guilty-of-loving-you-author) ❤️It means so much to a writer 🖋
> 
> I'm on tumblr as [cocoalou](https://cocoalou.tumblr.com/) so please come chat with me there!


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